Pieces of Always
by so caffeinated
Summary: Life happens quickly, in big moments and small ones, for the Queen family. The balance between work, family and saving the city isn't an easy one and some days Oliver and Felicity manage it better than others. First sequel to 'Forever Is Composed of Nows,' also cowritten w/ Bre, covering approximately the first 20 years after FiCoN in non-linear, slice-of-life stories.
1. September 2014

Welcome to our collection of one-shots that take place in the years following FICoN. In this series we'll be touching on most everyone's lives in some capacity. These are not strictly Olicity, but Olicity is still very present in most of them.

A few quick housekeeping things before we get going:

1) We are currently still following our FICoN update schedule (way too early every Monday morning, Pacific time). If/when that changes, we'll let you know.  
2) These will NOT be told in order, namely because we won't be covering every single little thing that occurs. This allows us to fill in gaps and show you important moments that will give color and background for when we eventually start posting the sequels.  
3) Unlike FICoN, the writing in the oneshots is more heavily so_caffeinated. Bre is adding to drafts, but the initial work is, thus far, mostly by so_caffeinated.  
4) Our betas remain absolute gold. Thank you Jaimie and Lizzie!  
5) Thank you for sticking with us! Enjoy!

 **Important Author Note - Please Read!**

One of main intentions with this series of ficlets is to flesh out the lives of Oliver and Felicity as well as their kids. We want their lives to feel as real as possible. Because of that, and because of the complexity of the life they've chosen to lead, there are real issues, both familial and personal, that we're going to be digging into. We've never pulled our punches before and we're not going to start now. There is a dark and gritty reality to life, doubly so for a vigilante's family, and we aren't going to shy away from that.

Please know we have a plan, for every single one of these characters. All three of the kids are getting their own full sequels, so what you read in these ficlets is NOT the end of their story. It's the foundation for them, a glimpse, a slice of their lives, pieces in this huge FICoN 'verse puzzle that we've crafted. (William is getting his own story as well, to be told throughout the sequels.)

These stories are a roller coaster, and sometimes they have long, ugly dips while other times they touch the highest peaks of joy. (Presuming we do our jobs correctly, anyhow) In the end, though, it's a ride we think is worthwhile, for every character and hopefully for most of you. We hope, in these ficlets, you find balance. There is humor and pain, joy and sorrow, frustration and unity... and yes, smut, too. Some of these stories are going to hurt, a lot. We dive into emotional, mental, and psychological issues with all of the characters, individually and in each relationship, and we pull heavily from our own life experiences to fuel those stories. Because of that, we realize that it won't be for *all* of you. This is far from the 'Happily Ever After' that might have been expected after FiCoN. Specific warnings will be added as they crop up and some of the issues in this series will trigger some and will turn others away. Please take care. We aren't always the best at replying to comments these days, but we are both on Twitter as well as Tumblr and we very rarely bite. (Unless you ask nicely, of course.)

All our love,  
Janis and Bre

* * *

 **September 2014**

The waiting room is serene.

It's all soft pastel colors, with a rather ridiculously-sized fishtank in one corner and a play area in another. The air is suffused with a feeling of calm, of peace and cheer, celebrating life and…

"I have to _pee_."

Oliver honestly tries not to smile, but he can't contain his grin. He's flying high today, absolutely on cloud nine in spite of how the rest of the week has gone, and he's easily amused at the moment. Even the solid thwack to his arm by his girlfriend as she bounces anxiously in front of him does nothing to dampen his mood. His grin quickly turns into a laugh, which might not be the best choice considering the way the love of his life has been bemoaning her situation and dancing about for the last ten minutes, but it's instinctive and he can't cage it in.

Really, most of the time she wouldn't want him to. But today…

"Oliver!" she protests, looking at him with scandalized offense. " _Thirty-two_. That's how many ounces of water I had to chug and now we're just _sitting_ here? They could at least run on schedule. Do you think we could pay them to just go now? Everybody has their price, right?"

He shakes his head at her, which is an equally terrible idea, something that's only reinforced when her look morphs into a glare. But this _is_ the same woman who balked at the idea of him buying their new home on his own just last week, in spite of the fact that he easily has more than enough money to do so.

He raises an amused eyebrow. "You want me to _bribe_ the ultrasound technician?"

Even as she wriggles uncomfortably, she can recognize the irony. Her annoyance evaporates with a sheepish eyeroll. That is until she stops bouncing, which seems to somehow put more pressure on her bladder. She groans.

"If I've proven nothing else these past two years," Felicity points out, closing her eyes, "I think I've proven myself morally flexible. Sometimes extreme measures are called for."

"And this would be one of those times?" he prods.

"Hey, _you_ drink a gallon of water and hold it for an hour while an alien invader uses your bladder as its own personal punching bag," she replies crisply. "Then you can talk to me about whether or not extreme measures are needed."

She keeps moving, but it does nothing to help. Misery works its way across her features as she whimpers. He's not without sympathy, not at all, but he's just so _excited_ to see the baby that it's been overwhelming everything else.

Oliver reaches for her with a murmured, "Come here." He tugs her forward by her hips until she's standing right in front of where he's seated on the uncomfortable waiting room chair. "I'm sorry. I'll bribe them if you want me to."

She's considering it. He can see it written all over her face. Oliver has to bite his tongue to keep from grinning again.

"No," she replies mournfully after a moment. "I'm sure everyone else here drank a swimming pool worth of water, too. That wouldn't be fair to them." He declines to point out that her estimation of how much water she drank has steadily increased. "But, I reserve the right to stop caring about them if this goes even a second past ten minutes."

"Fair enough," he agrees, keeping his hands on her hips. He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to her rapidly growing baby bump.

It's incredible how excited he is, how _ready_ he feels. The contrast to the last time he'd been in a position like this is night and day. But he'd been such a mess back then, when Samantha had told him she was pregnant. He'd been so _young_. It's not like everything is exactly ideal now either, but he's in a better place. Hell, on paper, their situation might actually be worse, considering the mess on the Arrow's doorstep. But he aches with how much he wants this, how much he can't wait to hold his baby in his arms and soothe her cries, rock her to sleep. And, yes… yes, he'll be juggling that with being the Arrow and rebuilding QC and a relatively new and somewhat uneasy relationship with his son's mother, but none of that matters because he knows this is perfect.

He feels it with every fiber of his being.

"Maybe try thinking about something else," Oliver suggests, as if that's something Felicity hasn't been trying to do for the last hour. He knows she has even before she raises her eyebrows at him. He rubs her hips. "Hey," he says, his voice quiet with wonder. "We get to see her soon."

Felicity's face softens at that. She bites her lip, looking down at her growing stomach. She smooths her hands over it to cup her belly.

"We get to know for sure it's a _her_ soon," she points out. "I know we've said it's a girl from the beginning, mostly because… because Ellie was so certain." Felicity swallows hard when she says her name. It doesn't come easily to her and he hasn't pushed. Yet. He wants to talk about Ellie more; he thinks they need to. Though right _now_ is definitely not the time to start. "But it's not like she could have actually known, Oliver."

"It's a girl," Oliver says with certainty, looking at her stomach where its eye-level with him. "It's our little girl in there and she's going to be as perfect as her little sister will be."

A noise catches in Felicity's throat at that, but Oliver doesn't look up at her. He knows it's mostly for her sake.

The subject of Ellie is still something she tries to carry privately. Sharing her pain about their daughter is not something that comes with ease. She's doing better - they both are - but the struggle is there.

So, instead of looking up at her, Oliver focuses on the evidence of his baby that's right in front of him. He kisses Felicity's belly again, smiling against the taut fabric stretched across her stomach. She's not a fan of the loose and flowy look and he's damned happy for that because her figure absolutely takes his breath away.

"Hey, baby girl," he murmurs against the tight jersey material that's really not meant to be a maternity dress. "Save the tap dancing on mommy's bladder for later, would you?"

Felicity huffs out a laugh, pushing her hands through his hair. She scrapes her nails over his scalp, just the way he likes it. With a sigh, he rests his forehead against her stomach. It's funny how much these quiet moments of mild affection mean to him, how much something as simple as her hands in his hair makes him absolutely melt. He can deal with anything life throws at him as long as he gets to keep coming home to this, to _her_ , every day.

"Smoak?"

They turn in tandem to see a woman with a clipboard nearby, looking at them expectantly.

Felicity breathes a quiet, "Oh, thank _god_ ," grabbing his hand and tugging him up out of the chair before walking toward the nurse. The young woman has a bright smile and her clothes have little dancing duckies all over them. He vaguely hears Felicity talking to her - something about being excited, something about how she's been feeling - because the word ' _Smoak'_ rings through his head.

He's gonna have to fix that. He _wants_ to fix that, with a sudden yearning that takes him by surprise. It's not like he hasn't wanted it before, he has, but right now, in this moment, the want is stronger than ever before. And the sooner the better in his mind, but he's fairly certain Felicity's not quite there yet. There's been so much going on, and they really could use time to just be _them_ before jumping into yet another new situation.

But he wants her to be a Queen.

He wants it _badly_.

"Hey."

He blinks. The doctor's office comes back into focus, and he finds both Felicity and the nurse staring at him.

Felicity tugs on his hand. "Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere," he says, a small smile inching across his face. It crinkles the edges of his eyes as he hones in on her. On his future _wife_. "I'm right here with you. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

He pulls her hand up to kiss her fingers before following along as they head into a room for her appointment.

Oliver pays little attention to the routine parts that follow: checking her weight - she swears at least two pounds are due to the water - and measuring her blood pressure. No, his eyes find something else. There's a chart on the wall comparing fetus sizes by week to various fruits and vegetables.

A _banana_.

His baby's the size of a banana right now.

Oliver's not sure exactly _why_ that's endearing, but it is. And _amazing_.

He's fully distracted by the chart right up until Felicity uses his shoulder for support as she takes off her shoes.

"You know," she says, prompting him to look at her. She's already taken off her dress and donned a dressing gown. The nurse is nowhere to be seen. Felicity taps his chest."This is the first time you haven't even looked my direction while I undressed. If I were a little bit more insecure, I might be worried it's because I look like a beached whale."

"You're gorgeous and you know it," he instantly replies, with a wink that makes her smile as she scrunches her nose at him. His eyes skim down her body. The drape-like blue gown is anything other than attractive, but it's _her_ wearing it, and that's all he needs. He steps closer, tugging on the sleeve of the gown as he hones in on her. "I think maybe I need to remind you of that when we get out of here."

A little shiver hits her. Felicity bites her lip. It's intensely evident that she's not wearing a thing under that flimsy fabric, because her nipples peak immediately in a way that has his mouth watering in anticipation. He loves all of her - _always_ \- but pregnancy has done absolutely amazing things to her breasts. He's more than a little entranced with how sensitive she's gotten, how responsive she is to even the lightest whisper of a touch…

His thumbs itch to do just that.

"I think maybe you should," she whispers, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes.

It's enough to suck all the air out of the room, leaving his lungs tight and his eyes blown wide. The whole world is reduced down to the two of them and the moment stretches out, feeling tangible and infinite all at once.

At least it does until a sharp knock on the door makes them both jump. Okay, so her OBGYN's office is probably one of the worst places to imagine all the things he's going to do her beautiful breasts, but oh well.

"Hi there!" A woman pokes her head in the room. Her disposition is so cheery it might be grating if Oliver weren't in such a good mood to start with. "I'm Connie, your technician today. You about ready to sneak a peek at your little one?"

"When can I pee?" Felicity asks in place of a response.

The technician laughs and wrinkles her nose, but Felicity is most definitely not amused.

"It's a lot, I know," Connie agrees. "Just try to hang in there and we'll get you to a bathroom as soon as we can, okay?"

Felicity sighs, but she doesn't argue. When he glances at her, there's a new nervous energy surrounding her, and Oliver knows her easy acquiescence is mostly due to her wanting to see their daughter every bit as much as he does.

He captures her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"Why don't you hop up on the table," the tech says, patting said table as she sets a clipboard down. "And I'll try to warm up this goo so it isn't so _brrr_ chilly on your belly!" Connie gives them an overly enthusiastic fake shudder. Oliver's pretty sure he's looking at her like she's crazy - and he kind of thinks she might be - but she doesn't seem to care. She hums to herself, using her hands to warm up a tube of something that's an unnatural shade of blue.

But she doesn't hold his attention long.

"Need a hand?" he asks, moving to help Felicity before she can answer.

"I'm good," she counters, waving him off as she hops up onto the table. "I'm a total pro at sitting. Been doing it most of my life."

"That's sass," he says, raising his eyebrows. "You're sassing me right now."

Felicity's way too smug as she gives him a little grin and half-shrug before laying back against the paper-covered plastic bed. He just shakes his head, standing at her side. The paper crinkles loudly under her as she situates herself, but her sudden sigh of relief drowns out the noise quickly.

"Oh thank god, she _moved_ ," Felicity breathes, closing her eyes and touching her stomach. "Thank you, baby. Thank you _so_ much. If you could just stay right there, I will totally promise you cookies or a pony or a trip to Disney or _whatever_ you want. Deal?"

"Awww… bribes aren't the answer, Momma!" the tech says, perma-grin in place as she adjusts a monitor and flanks Felicity's other side.

"That depends entirely on what the question is," Felicity replies blank-faced.

Oliver bites his lip to keep in a snicker. This really isn't the time.

"So," Connie says, completely bypassing Felicity's retort. "Sounds like you two think it's a little princess you've got there, huh?"

It's not the first time they've heard that, not by a longshot.

The media's been speculating since well before the baby bump had even been visible, and it's only grown in fervor as her pregnancy and their presence in the public eyes has become more pronounced. Interest in the Queen family seems like it's at an all time high these days. Between trying to rebuild the company - literally - and his mother's role as mayor as well as his sister's sharp decline in public appearances, speculation has run wild. It seems like the whole city is waiting for confirmation on whether it's expecting a new princess or princeling to call its own quasi-royal heir.

It's been _exhausting_.

But they both ignore that and get right to the point.

"Yes," Felicity replies as Oliver intones a firm, "Absolutely."

The tech's waves some kind of wand-like piece of equipment about. "Wanna see if we can't find out for sure?"

"Let's do this," Felicity agrees, taking a deep breath.

Connie drapes a thin white sheet over Felicity's legs before helping her ruck up her gown to expose her belly.

A nervous excitement creeps along Oliver's skin, making it feel too tight and too static all at once. His heart's got to be going a million beats a minute and he grips Felicity's hand as much to support her as he does to settle himself. She calms him some. She always does.

But she clenches his hand with a sudden squeeze and lets out a yelp when the technician squirts some of that gel on her stomach.

"That's _warmer_?" she asks, blinking at the tech.

"Believe it or not!" Connie replies. "Trust me, you aren't gonna be real concerned with that in a minute."

She's absolutely right.

The instant she stops talking, she puts the wand against Felicity's skin and the room is suddenly filled with an almost machine-like whir of noise. It's fast and repetitive and it takes a moment for anything to register in Oliver's head, much less picking up on exactly what that is.

When it hits him a split second later, he stops breathing.

"Well, you're sure easy to find aren't you, little one?" Connie chuckles, pressing the wand at a slightly different angle.

"Is that…" Felicity starts, looking between Oliver and the technician. He can't reply, though. He's at a total loss for words because he knows exactly what he's hearing and he's suddenly so overwhelmed he's not sure he could get a word out without crying. He's vaguely aware that Felicity's still staring at him. "That's the…"

"That'd be your baby's heartbeat," the chipper technician confirms. Her cheeriness is significantly less annoying all of a sudden.

"Oh my god."

It takes Oliver a minute to realize he's the one who spoke.

His eyes fly from Felicity's belly to her face and what he finds there matches what he's feeling exactly. Wetness clings to the edges of her eyelids, but the tears don't spill. This is overwhelming in the best possible way. Love and happiness fill his chest, making his heart feel like it might just burst. From morning sickness to the rounding of Felicity's waistline, their child has made her presence known for months.

But this is different.

This is _more_.

"Sounds good, you two," Connie informs them. "Right about 150 beats per minute, which is well within the normal range. Now, let's see if we can't get a good picture, shall we?"

Oliver doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods vehemently as he pulls Felicity's hand to his lips and kisses the inside of her wrist over and over. She uncurls her fingers to touch the side of his face as he breathes her in at her pulse point, savoring that wonderful mix of scents that are uniquely hers.

Before he's entirely ready, the technician flips a switch and brings the monitor to life.

He's not sure what he'd expected. He'd missed all of this with William - it all would have been vastly different then anyhow, on many levels - but he's a little surprised when the screen is grainy and black and white. Of _course_ it is. It's an ultrasound, not a video camera. But still, it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust and figure out what he's seeing.

The technician presses the wand in a few different angles, trying to get a clearer view. It's like the image on the screen is pushing through waves of dark water as she moves it, bits of white dissolving into the black surrounding it.

She suddenly stops. It takes a few seconds before the picture slowly starts to solidify…

And then his daughter is right there in front of him.

"Felicity…" he chokes out. Oliver turns his face into her hand for half a second before realizing he's missing a precious view of his baby and he turns back toward the screen. It's somehow _more_ amazing and beautiful. "Oh my god, do you see that?"

Felicity's free hand is over her mouth and she's completely at a loss for words - for once - letting the gravity of the moment run through her instead. She doesn't even bother to _try_ to keep the tears in. She's unbelievably beautiful in this moment, seeing their daughter for the first time, and Oliver just has to kiss her temple. But then he's looking back at the screen, his forehead still touching hers.

"That's an arm there and those are the legs," Connie tells them, pointing at the screen with a pencil. "Baby's awake right now and kicking. Do you feel it?"

Felicity manages a noise that sounds like some kind of denial in spite of the fact that's it's basically unintelligible.

"Not yet," Oliver manages.

"Any day now, then," the tech says, shifting the wand slightly. "There's a good view of your little one's face."

It is. It really is. Maybe it's just a grainy profile ultrasound view, but Oliver can see his daughter's cute little upturned nose and the soft curve of her chin. Her little lips part as she brings a fist to her mouth.

She's gorgeous.

Perfect.

Oliver's heart is absolutely stolen by his daughter right on the spot.

He'll never get it back and he's more than okay with that.

"Looks like you've got a thumb sucker there," Connie tells them. "That's pretty common."

Oliver barely hears her. He's too taken with the sight on the monitor to split his attention like that. The urge to touch Felicity's belly, to have some sort of physical connection to his child, is so very strong that it's almost a compulsion, a _need_. He doesn't give a damn that she's covered in that blue goo or that he can't feel his little girl kick yet.

He doesn't realize he's moving until his fingers brush through some of the gel. That snaps him back and he pulls his hand back, gripping Felicity's arm instead.

Really, the only thing stopping him is the realization that if he _does_ touch it, he might disrupt the picture in front of him.

And that's just unacceptable.

"She's beautiful, Oliver," Felicity whispers against her own palm. Maybe it's a bit silly because it's not like they can really _see_ her, not like she's in their arms. All they've got is a grainy silhouette. But he has to agree, because it's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen in his life.

"You two are pretty dead set on this little one being a girl, huh?" Connie asks them with an amused grin. "Scale of one-to-ten, how positive are you? Because this baby's in a pretty good position for me to get you some evidence one way or another."

"Twelve," Oliver answers immediately. "That's my daughter."

He _knows_ it with every fiber of his being.

"That's a whole lot of certainty there, Dad," the tech tells him, looking somewhat impressed. "Mom? Scale of one-to-ten?"

Felicity hesitates a moment and drops the hand from her mouth, her eyes darting to him then back to the screen. "Eight," she finally says. Her eyes slip back to Oliver before they go back to the screen, and in that split second, her confidence grows. "It's a girl. I'm almost certain."

"You wanna know?" Connie asks, looking at each of them in turn.

"Yes," Felicity says instantly, just as Oliver says, "Go ahead and tell her it's a girl."

"Good instincts there, Dad." The tech grins as euphoria erupts in his chest. "You've got a baby girl. Congratulations!"

There hadn't been a single doubt in his mind. But there obviously had been in Felicity's - her relief is tangible as she asks, "Really? Like _really_ , really? You're absolutely sure? You're not gonna be like, 'Oops! Looks like your boy was shy!' in a few minutes or… _God_ , in a few _months_?"

Connie laughs and shakes her head. "I've been doing this a very long time, Miss Smoak. You're good to go buy a bunch of pink frilly dresses."

Oliver's ready for the speech about the ridiculousness of gender-based baby colors, but it never comes. Emotion overcomes his girlfriend at the confirmation that their baby is a girl. Her face crumples as she leans back fully on the bed, covering her face with her arm. She gulps back a sob… but she's _smiling_. It's a huge grin that's so full of joy that it instantly quadruples Oliver's.

The technician has more than enough experience to know she ought to give them a moment and go about her business as unobtrusively as possible.

It's not easy to pull his eyes away from the monitor - his little girl is utterly captivating - but the urge to turn to Felicity is undeniable. She needs him, and that comes first. Even now.

Oliver nudges her arm out of the way and he puts his forehead to hers. Felicity wraps a hand around the back of his neck with a ragged sob. It's a mixture of relief, joy and hormones flooding her, but there's a tinge of sorrow, too.

A hint of that will probably always be there.

Ellie would have been overjoyed to see her sister on the screen, too.

"She was right," Oliver points out in an insistent whisper. "She was so sure and she was right."

Felicity gives the smallest nod imaginable, her face barely moving against his.

"Time wants to happen," she adds, putting her free hand on the side of his face and pulling him the scant bit closer he needs to be so she can kiss him. It's as chaste as any kiss they've shared - the technician is right there and her belly's still covered in goo, after all - but it's just as meaningful as any of the others. There's unity in the way she kisses him, a sense of strength and partnership. When he pulls back after a moment, her hand lingers on his face, tears shining in her eyes, but she's grinning.

They both are.

"I'll get out of your hair," Connie says, slightly more muted. It's a happy muted, though, an obvious deference to their joy. She wipes the majority of the gel off Felicity's stomach before grabbing her clipboard. "I've got to enter in these measurements and I'll print you off a few photos, okay?" She pats Felicity's arm. "You can get dressed again whenever you're ready."

"Oh, but-" Felicity starts, sitting up and whipping her head around to look back at the screen. She breathes out a visible sigh of relief when she sees the baby is still on the monitor. It's a freeze frame, a slice of time caught on camera that Oliver already knows he'll carry around in his wallet for _years_ just as soon as the technician gives him a print out. Still, there's more than a hint of disappointment on Felicity's face when she realizes the sonogram itself is over. "I just thought…"

"You're always gonna want more," Connie says with a knowing smile. "You'll have that baby girl in your arms soon enough. Until then, let me get you your pictures. And good news, you can use the restroom whenever you'd like now."

With that, she walks out, leaving Oliver and Felicity alone with the picture of their daughter on the screen.

The gown settles over the remaining goo on her belly. It sticks strangely to her skin, leaving a blue stain on the cheap fabric. Felicity doesn't seem to notice. Or, at least, she doesn't seem to _care_. That might be more accurate.

She's _entranced_.

Oliver sits down behind her and wraps both arms around her. He rests his chin on her shoulder, watching the screen with her. Even as he urges her body to lean back against him physically, he says nothing, giving her the space he knows she needs to process everything that's just happened.

After a moment of silence, she starts, "Do you think…" but her voice breaks away before she finishes.

"Do I think what?" he asks. He presses his lips against the skin of her shoulder just inside the loosely tied hospital gown.

Felicity licks her lips before turning to look back at him. She shows him vulnerability so much easier now than she used to, but it's still not something that comes naturally to her. Part of him wonders if it ever will be.

"Does it look like her?" she asks, searching his eyes. "I keep… I keep looking at her nose, her lips, the slope of her forehead and the shape of her chin and… I guess I just keep looking for pieces of her."

"They're sisters, honey," he replies softly. "I'm sure there will be plenty of things they have in common. Bits of you and me that we pass on to both of them."

"Yeah…"

Felicity looks back at the screen with a furrowed brow.

"I'd say there's pretty solid odds all our kids wind up with blue eyes," Oliver adds. "I'm less sure about the blond hair, though."

He can't resist tugging lightly at her ponytail as he says it. Having to forego hair dye for the duration of her pregnancy had been nearly as hard on Felicity as giving up caffeine. He's found himself oddly enthralled by the emergence of her natural roots. They're a lot darker than he'd expected.

She looks back at him with a long-suffering smile and an amused roll of her eyes. There's no doubt she thinks he's being ridiculous. And he _is_ , but it's with purpose. And that purpose is to cut through whatever it is that has her in a bit of a funk and bring her back to this amazing moment they're sharing together.

"No dying her hair before 12," Felicity says with surprising finality. "House rule."

Oliver rests his chin on her shoulder again. "That's a good rule for the brownstone."

Felicity sighs. " _Oliver_."

It's still a point of contention between them, still very much an ongoing debate. But he's pretty sold on the absurdly expensive four story brick home in the heart of downtown and he's pretty sure he's finally starting to wear her down.

"It is," he protests. "First rule of the Smoak-Queen home."

That makes her pause. "The Smoak-Queen home?"

"Yeah, that's…" He suddenly feels a little lost and nervous all at once. "Yes."

"Oliver…" Felicity turns to look at him, her brow knitting together as her body tenses up. "Are you planning on hyphenating her last name?"

His heart sinks because that sounds like a definite _no_. They haven't really talked about this. There's been so much going on. But he'd always just assumed that she'd want their daughter to have his last name, too. And the idea that she might not hits him with an unexpected blow.

"I, uh…" He can't keep her gaze, his eyes settling on the speckled linoleum tiles instead. "I just thought…"

" _Hey_." Felicity touches his chin gently, guiding his gaze back up to her. "I think we got some wires crossed in there somewhere."

He lets out a beleaguered sigh. "I guess so."

"Oliver, I want all our kids to have the same last name," she tells him firmly, searching his eyes. As he puts together exactly what she's saying, she smiles. "This baby is a Queen. All our kids will be. I don't need Smoak in there."

That has a weight he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying slipping right off his shoulders. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says quietly, slipping her thumb across the line of his jaw. "I'm sure. I thought we might give her my middle name, so she has something from my side other than, you know, half her genes." She taps his jaw with a scrunch of her nose. "Meghan seems like a fair trade."

The grin that breaks out across his face stretches from ear to ear and he kisses her hard. It takes her by surprise, if the little squeak she lets out is any indication. It's all gratitude and it's the only way he can think of in this moment to express it fully, so he doesn't wait for her to meet him halfway, not this time. It's a different sort of kiss than their usual kind - this isn't about passion. It's not even about love, not the sort they generally share anyhow. It's about expressing how intensely thankful he is the only way he knows how, in a desperate kiss that's almost raw in its innocence.

" _Thank you_ ," he tells her. As if he hadn't just said exactly that.

"Mmm." Felicity hums happily, stroking the side of his face. "So we have a middle name and a last name. Just the first to go, I guess."

He doesn't think he pauses, doesn't think he gives anything away, but Felicity reads him absurdly well these days. She always has, but it's a new level now - it's quickly obvious that she knows he's holding something back.

She narrows her eyes at him. "You totally have a name for her, don't you?"

Oliver swallows hard, pressing his lips together as he looks around the room a moment because… Yes. Yes, he does. He'd spent hours scouring the internet on his phone making lists and narrowing them down right up until the perfect name had crossed his path. He'd stopped looking after that. He's had a name picked out for her for the past three weeks, but he hasn't shared it with Felicity.

It somehow almost felt too private to share at first. Some slightly irrational part of him had been afraid she wouldn't like it and would reject it out of hand. There isn't a special meaning behind it, or a person they'd be naming their daughter after. But, all the same, he loves the idea of it, the way it rolls off his tongue. And it _has_ rolled off his tongue plenty of times. He's taken to talking to their daughter as Felicity sleeps, telling stories to her belly.

But he hasn't told Felicity. He wasn't ready. He's not sure he is now, either.

"It's just an idea for one," he says, and God, is he _blushing_? He's pretty sure he is, which makes him feel like a total ass. This means a whole lot more to him than he can readily admit, though, and part of his reaction is because he's not even entirely sure _why_.

There's no doubt that Felicity's picking up on that.

"So…" Felicity leans back against him. "Do I get to hear it?"

His hesitance only serves to show precisely how meaningful this is to him.

"Julianna." He takes the time to savor each syllable as it trips off his tongue. "Julianna Meghan Queen."

He has no idea what she thinks, and it's because he's too nervous to keep her gaze. His eyes dart to the monitor where her little face still is. _Julianna_.

Felicity slips her hand up his arm where his arm is wrapped around her, her fingers tracing a line up to his bicep.

"Julianna?"

It sounds almost like she's testing the name out.

"Yeah." Oliver licks his lips. "I thought… Maybe we could call her Jules, or maybe Julie… Julie-bug. I just liked it."

For a long moment, all Oliver can hear is his own heartbeat. When he looks up, his eyes catch on the screen again, on that perfect little screencap of his baby girl… his Julie-bug… The baby he's been quietly whispering declarations of love to by name for almost a month.

When he dares look back toward Felicity's face, it's full of blinding levels of soft affection as she stares at her stomach.

His heart goes a bit faster at the sight.

"I like it, too," she tells him, a smile slowly covering her face. Oliver lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I really like it."

"Really?" he asks. Even his voice sounds painfully hopeful.

"Yeah, _really_ ," she agrees. She nudges his arm. "Oliver, how long have you had that name picked out?"

"Uh… a while," he admits. "A month, maybe."

Felicity lets out a surprised laugh. "A _month_?"

Oliver's shrug is sheepish. "I was trying to come up with a way to suggest it so that you'd like it, too."

"Well, you did," she tells him, settling more fully against his chest. "And I think it's perfect."

That has relief and happiness filling him. Oliver shuts his eyes and leans his head against her temple. He smooths his hands down the curve of her belly with gentle reverence, relishing even the feel of the gel leaking through the gown.

His hands have seen so much brutality in life, wrought so much damage and death; but, they've done this, too. They've loved this woman, and their children, with a gentleness that he wouldn't have thought himself capable of just a few years ago. It's mended something inside him that he'd thought was permanently broken.

As Felicity sighs contentedly against him, he whispers, "Looks like we've got you a name, Julie-bug."

"Julie-bug," Felicity echoes, her hands covering his. "Julie-bug who likes to live on mommy's bladder."

Oliver laughs.

A sudden rap on the door pulls them back to the reality of where exactly they are. Connie peeks her head back in, her chipper smile firmly in place.

"It's pretty distracting, isn't it?" she asks. "These little ones have us wrapped around their fingers way earlier than they've got any clue. Still… you might want to change out of that gown. It gets surprisingly drafty in here!"

"Right," Felicity says with a little nod.

Oliver kisses Felicity's temple, lingering just a little longer. His thumbs stroke over her stomach once more before he helps her sit up. He eases off the bed and grabs her a clean towel to wipe off the worst of the goo with.

"Oh, there she is," Felicity announces. The concrete knowledge that the baby is a she rings in her voice and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. "She moved again." Felicity shifts with a wince and a hard nod as she slips off the table, holding the back of her gown shut. "Bathrooms are…?"

"Two doors down the hall to the left," the technician tells her.

Connie holds the door open as Felicity waddles hurriedly toward the door. Oliver quickly slips off his jacket and hangs it over her shoulders as she passes because 'drafty' is a bit of an understatement and hospital gowns are the absolute _worst_.

"I'll be back as soon as she's no longer tap dancing on my bladder," Felicity says over her shoulder as she leaves the room. He doesn't miss her turning to her belly, chastising their daughter for her inconsiderate kicking as she shakes a finger at her stomach in reprimand.

Oliver can only grin.

"You two are adorable," Connie says. "And you're gonna have an absolutely beautiful little girl. I can tell."

"Thank you," Oliver says genuinely. He's still staring down the hall in the direction Felicity had disappeared.

"And these are for you." Connie steps into the room, holding out a couple of black and white pictures that look like they've been printed on paper that's only marginally better than what he uses for the office. "Here you go, Dad."

They're some of the most precious things he's ever held in his hands and he immediately treats them that way, careful to hold the edges and not to crinkle the fragile paper.

They need to last forever, after all.

"Thank you," he says again, grinning wider as he takes in the writing at the top of the page. ' _Baby Smoak-Queen'_ it says. He shakes his head. "I appreciate this more than I can say," he adds, "but you got her name wrong."

"No hyphen?" Connie guesses correctly.

"Just Queen," he confirms, staring down at his daughter's profile, committing it to memory. "Julianna Meghan Queen… My little Jules. She's got a remarkable life ahead of her."

He has no idea how right he is.


	2. May 2033

May 2033

"Oh my god, Sara," Ellie says, pulling back with a huff. "If you don't sit still, you're gonna end up with eyeliner in your eye and it won't be my fault!"

Sara groans, the older girl opening her eyes to take in Ellie's knowing stare.

They've been close since they were born, since _before_ they were born even, and despite the fact that Ellie's older sister is far closer in age to Sara, it's the two of them who have bonded in a way that means they can communicate based on looks alone.

When they want to, that is.

"I should just do it," Sara declares, moving to grab the stick, but Ellie holds it out of reach. "Ellie."

Sara holds out her hand for the makeup, raising her eyebrows expectantly. She might believe she really can put it on herself, but the rapid tapping of Sara's foot against the soft carpet of Ellie's bedroom floor tells another story. Her knee bounces absently to a nervous rhythm all its own, one that translates through her entire body.

"Yeah." Ellie laughs, putting a hand on Sara's leg to force it to stop. "You're _totally_ calm. Your hands are gonna be super steady."

"Oh shut up," Sara retorts, cheeks turning pink. "It's just… It's _prom_ , Ellie. You'll get it in a few years. It's not like a normal date."

Per usual, Ellie schools her features to hold in the way her heart drops at Sara's words. Despite her best efforts - and they really _are_ her best efforts - the words sting, because she does get it, but not for the reasons Sara does.

Her best friend has been looking forward to prom for months now, filling a Pinterest board with hairstyles and dresses and jewelry the way some women might when planning a wedding. Her excitement would normally be contagious - if just to see more of the way Sara's face positively lights up when she's passionate about something - save for the tiny fact that Ellie now cringes whenever she hears the word 'prom' anymore.

There's nothing in the world that Ellie wants less than to clue her - or anyone, really - into how much all of this hurts. And now that the day is finally here, Ellie feels like part of her is silently dying on the inside.

"Close your eyes," Ellie orders. "Unless you want one eye with eyeliner, but I think that's a bit too funky for you. Maybe Jules could pull it off."

Sara snorts but does as Ellie instructs. She shuts her eyes, forcing her features to slacken as she angles her head upward for Ellie to finish her work. And she really needs to. Ellie doesn't need to look at a clock to know there isn't a whole lot of time left before Sara's date gets here and they still have to finish her makeup and hair. She _knows_ that… but Ellie still takes a selfish moment to herself anyhow.

Because she can't help it.

Because sometimes Sara's so beautiful it takes her breath away.

Ellie doesn't know when it started. It seems like part of her has always loved Sara. Though, the meaning of that has evolved over time, obviously. She's fifteen now and being in love with Sara is very different than it was a few years ago. It's less naive, less innocent… and so much more consuming. The growing pull she feels toward her best friend has slowly morphed into a secret, one she hides close to her heart, because _everything_ about Sara draws Ellie in.

She's a moth to a flame, and she's completely helpless against it.

Ellie hates it, because it _hurts_. It hurts every single day, but it hurts so much more when she has to put on a fake smile and send the best friend she secretly loves off to prom with a boy who doesn't deserve her.

And yet, despite feeling like her heart lives in a grinder, she's not sure she'd trade it for anything. Because Sara's incredible. She's funny and gorgeous and smart and Ellie doesn't think a world exists where she knows Sara and _doesn't_ love her.

It may royally suck, but the way she feels about Sara translates to every universe, no matter how many there are.

She's certain of it.

"What's up?" Sara asks, peeking one eye open.

"Nothing," Ellie says quickly, cursing herself for her momentary lapse in keeping her guard up. Sara's too smart for something like that, but thankfully this situation has somehow proven to be exceptional. She waves at Sara. "Close your eyes."

When Sara does, Ellie leans in with the brush to carefully paint a perfect matching line along the edge of the other girl's eyelid.

If she takes her time, her fingers lingering against the line of Sara's cheekbone for longer than strictly necessary… well, no one will know but her, right?

After a second, Ellie announces, "There," before stepping back to survey her work.

"Let me see!" Sara insists. She grabs a hand mirror, inspecting her makeup. She closes one eye at a time before staring at them. Ellie watches her, smiling slightly when Sara bites her lip before remembering her makeup and dragging a finger along her lower lip in an effort to clean up any smeared lipstick. She looks at Ellie. "Do I look okay? What do you think?"

"I think…" Ellie stares at her. "I think you're beautiful," she says, meaning it with every fiber of her being, realizing that Sara might never quite understand how much she believes that. "I think Mike's a lucky guy."

Sara laughs incredulously at that, her smile broad and disbelieving. Ellie follows her every movement, unable to tear her eyes away from the other girl's richly painted lips as her breath catches in her throat at the sight of Sara's amusement… and the hint of pleasure underneath it.

Honestly, Ellie's not sure how she's going to make it through the rest of this day. She's not even sure how she's made it this far.

"Right," Sara says, rolling her eyes. "Captain of the water polo team and actual model, and _he's_ the lucky one."

"First off, he was in an ad for Big Belly Burger," Ellie points out. "And it was with, like, four other kids at school. It's not like he's doing runways in New York. Secondly, you're the captain of the volleyball team and you won state."

" _We_ won state," Sara corrects. "And you were the only freshman to even make the team."

"Not the point," Ellie tells her, unable to hide her delight. "This isn't about me being awesome. It's about _you_ being awesome."

"I know… I know," Sara agrees. "And you're right. It's just…" A wistful look skates over her features, the complete opposite of the one she'd had when she'd been talking about Ellie. The sudden change is a swift kick to the gut as Sara shakes her head - in _wonder_. "He's _Mike_ , you know? He's just so…"

Her voice trails off with a little sigh.

Ellie had been fine, she really had been. Sara's crush on Mike has been an honest source of torture for the last six months, but she'd done okay, because none of those days had been the day of the prom.

Not like today. Not when she's helping Sara get dressed up for someone else. And it's even worse because she knows Sara really, _really_ likes Mike, and the last thing she wants to do is sabotage anything.

That doesn't make it hurt any less.

Ellie bites her lip until it stings as she looks down at her toes. She won't cry. She _won't_.

"Well…" Ellie clears her throat, looking back at Sara with a painted-on smile. "Maybe you're both lucky then," she says, reaching up to twine one of Sara's tightly spiraled curls around her finger.

Sara's eyes are bright with happiness. "Maybe."

"Come on," Ellie says with forced cheer, because the look of joy on Sara's face over the idea of Mike-the-almost-model is enough to make her a little nauseous, "let's finish your hair."

Sara shifts in the chair, giving a little hop as she rotates to allow Ellie access to the back of her head. Ellie pushes her hands into the mass of curls gently. Her fingers skate over Sara's scalp and when they drift against the back of her neck, it makes Sara giggle, which in turn makes Ellie smile. They've already moisturized it and applied product to keep the tight spirals from getting too frizzy as the night goes on. It's beautiful as it is and Ellie knows that Sara's been tempted to just leave it down, but she's talked the older girl into letting her put it up. It's entire selfish - she really, really wants a reason to run her fingers through Sara's hair, to be that close to her and be able to touch her.

If Mike gets to dance with her all night and maybe even kiss her later - or, god forbid, more - then Ellie feels like this one little thing isn't asking too much.

"Are you sure I shouldn't just leave it down?" Sara asks, meeting Ellie's eyes in the dresser mirror. "Or maybe pin up one side?"

"No," Ellie insists, delicately running her fingers through sections of Sara's hair, like she's a hairdresser trying to figure out where to start. "You've got a million and two pictures of hairstyles, Sara. You're not leaving it down."

Sara doesn't look convinced as she reaches up, fluffing the ends. "But-"

"Mike likes it up," Ellie blurts out.

She's not sure who is more surprised at the words - her or Sara.

"R-really?" Sara asks. "He… he likes that? Did he say something to you? Did you hear something?"

Yeah, she did, actually. She heard he likes long hair down because boys coming out of the locker room are exactly as noisy and crude as she suspects they are _inside_ the locker room. But Ellie is selfish enough to use her best friend position to her own advantage here. Sara may like him, but Mike really doesn't deserve her. Not at all. And if this is the only way that Ellie can exert any influence over the situation… well, so be it.

"Just talk." Ellie shrugs. "Now let me work."

Sara purses her lips in contemplation, but she does stop protesting.

Ellie focus on the task at hand.

She takes her time, treasuring the quiet moment of closeness with her best friend. She pins her curls atop her head with little rhinestone flowers that make Sara look like one of the imaginary fairies that'd lived in their treehouse back when they were little girls.

If she takes too long or her fingers linger on Sara's neck when they don't really need to, the older girl doesn't seem to notice.

Ellie's almost mournful when she realizes she has the last clip in her hand. It's just as well, though, because Sara's stupid date is due any minute and somewhere along the way this turned into an exercise in self-torture. Ellie's self aware enough to know she really doesn't need it.

Just as she's about to step back and survey her work, the doorbell rings. Sara's entire demeanor changes as the tinkling bells echo through the house. She's so _happy_ and it only serves to make her all the more beautiful.

"Oh my god," Sara says, standing and running her hands down the smooth satiny orange fabric of her dress. Ellie's eyes start to follow her friend's hands, but before they get too far, she quickly averts them, staring at her toes again and flushing awkwardly. She might love Sara, she might even be able to accept that, but she's also fifteen and her understanding of what she feels when she takes note of Sara's fast-developing curves is both theoretical and kind of embarrassing. "Ellie… _Elle_ , hey. Am I okay? Am I forgetting anything?"

Ellie looks up with a painfully forced smile. "No," she replies. "You're perfect."

Nothing can keep the longing out of her voice. Her self-control is good, but it's not _that_ good.

Thankfully, Sara reads it as the simplest explanation, and the most innocuous one. She glances back in the mirror, nodding at her reflection with such a hopeful air that it only makes Ellie feel worse. It's the kind of worse that makes her feel like all the air is being sucked out of her body.

"I wish you could go, too," Sara says, turning back to her. She takes Ellie's hands, squeezing her fingers tightly. "It won't be the same without you there."

Ellie can only nod hard in response, not trusting her voice. Suddenly there's a hundred and one _other_ things they could be doing, and if she speaks, she might beg Sara to stay. She might suggest they curl up on the sofa together and watch some stupid old romantic comedy or steal some ice cream and hang out at the park on the swings or spar down in the basement. And she can't do that. Because Sara might say yes. Because she's exactly a good enough friend to know that if Ellie asked _now_ , there'd be a good reason. But she's been so excited about prom for so long…

And when it comes down to it, Ellie wants Sara to be happy even more than she wants that joy for herself.

"Hey."

Ellie snatches her hands away, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't. It earns her a confused glance from Sara, but she ignores it, spinning to face the door.

Jules stands at the threshold to the room, one hand hanging onto the top of the doorframe. It's by far the most dressed up Ellie has ever seen her sister. Gone are her usual skinny jeans and torn off t-shirts, and in their place is a shiny black sheath dress that doesn't quite hit her mid-thigh. Smoky makeup and the highest heels Ellie's ever seen - and considering Grandma Donna, that's saying a lot - top it off.

"The guys are here," Jules informs them, tilting her head toward the stairs as two of her friends file in behind her. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Sara answers. She straightens the asymmetrical hemline of her dress one more time. "Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Hold down the fort for us while we're gone, Ellie," Jules says before spinning away. It's not really meant to be cruel, but it sort of is anyhow, which is pretty much business as usual when it comes to her relationship with Jules. It still has Ellie's heart dropping in response to her sister's words.

She's kept going by virtue of being able to see Sara's happiness, but that's going to walk out the door with her in just a moment and Ellie doesn't know how in the world she's going to hold it together then.

" _Girls_." Her dad's voice filters from downstairs. "Your dates are here. Unless you've decided you'd rather stay home and do each other's hair and play hide and seek and eat all of the popcorn in the house. I'll kick them out if you want. You can have a sleepover and build a pillow fort instead."

Her father can be so _embarrassing_.

Jules clearly agrees because she rolls her eyes and snaps out a, " _God_ , we're coming, Dad!" just as her father lets out a little yelp that Ellie's _pretty sure_ means her mother's smacked him in the arm.

This is it.

Ellie smiles, moving to wave at Sara - because there's no way she'll be able to actually watch her leave with him - but then Sara grabs Ellie's hand.

"Come on," Sara says. "I want a picture with my stylist before I leave."

And just like that, Ellie winds up heading downstairs with the other girls, a camera in one hand and Sara's palm pressed to her other.

She doesn't want to let go.

" _Oh_ , Jules," their mother says, looking dewy-eyed as she covers her mouth. "Baby, you look so grown up!"

Ellie's pretty sure the only reason her mom hasn't rushed to throw her arms around Jules is that her father has a steadying hand on her back, equal parts supporting her and reminding her to let Jules have this moment.

Jules rolls her eyes, replying in a disaffected air, "Thanks, Mom."

"Thanks for letting us get ready here, Senator Queen," one of Jules' friends pipes up, Katie.

And _yeah_ , this particular friend of Jules' always gives Ellie the creeps because she's _pretty sure_ Katie's attempting to hit on her dad. Which sorta makes Ellie want to puke a bit. Given the look on her dad's face, she's fully convinced he's right there with her. Her father gives her a polite smile, not-so-subtly shifting closer to her mother, who looks completely unaffected.

"Hi, Mike," Sara says, letting go of Ellie's hand. Ellie wonders if Sara notices the way her fingers follow hers as she walks across the room to where her date stands waiting in a tux.

"Hey," he replies, eyeing her up and down in a way that surely proves he's either forgotten or hasn't realized that her parents are in the room as well.

Jules is right behind her, but her eyes are glued on the guy next to him.

"Josh," she greets just before grabbing her boyfriend-of-the-week's suspenders to plant a solid kiss on his lips. Ellie's eyes bulge slightly, especially when she _hears_ the smacking of their lips before Jules pulls back. She snaps Josh's suspenders against his chest with a satisfied smirk. That the poor guy doesn't come away with deep red lipstick all over his mouth is sort of shocking. Ellie makes a mental note to ask her sister what brand she's using because that's some serious staying power.

Looking to her dad, Ellie can see him wearing down his teeth as he grinds them together, but he says nothing. She's pretty sure nobody misses the way his fingers rub together, like he's aching to grab his bow and put two arrows in this kid's eye sockets.

To Josh's credit, though, he looks toward his date's father like he's expecting to be flayed alive the moment she backs off… Not that she goes far. Jules isn't one to give a damn about appropriateness or boundaries. Josh proves he's far smarter than Mike when he warily tries to keep his distance, very aware of her father's not-so-light glare.

As her sister drapes her arm around her date, their mom admonishes, "Jules…"

Ellie's the only one who notices her mother leaning into her father's side, her own way of calming him.

"Are we snapping pics or what?" Jules asks, completely unaffected.

"Oh." Right, that's her cue. "Yeah." Ellie nods at them, holding the camera up. It's an archaic thing, something that only works by the saving grace of her mother's inability to let it die.

Everyone pairs off for a few quick shots.

If her camera centers on Sara for most of the shots… well, she's not sorry.

After a few minutes of that, Sara waves her off and makes a grab for the camera before tossing it across the room. "Come on," she says, wrapping her arm around Ellie, "let your dad take a few shots of us, too, my magical, beautiful stylist. You make me feel like a million bucks, Ellie."

The picture that comes from that moment will be one she keeps for the rest of her life - Sara's grinning at her as Ellie looks back with happiness and blatant affection. Even when times get tough, even when she questions absolutely everything about her relationship with Sara in the coming years, _that shot_ will always give her a glimpse of what lies right beneath the surface. It's raw and it's honest and in spite of the fact that she's so, _so_ young, when she looks at it in the right light, it seems like maybe it hints at the sort of life she'd really like to lie ahead of her.

Uncle Digg suddenly claps his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Okay then," he says, stepping forward, past Jules' friends and their dates until he's two feet away from Mike. Sara's sigh is all exasperation. "So here's the thing. _Senator Queen_ isn't going to threaten any of you boys. He respects these girls enough to make their own choices and to call us if there's something they can't handle on their own. I've been informed I'm not to do any threatening either."

"Johnny…" Sara's mom says slowly from across the room, which he blatantly ignores.

"And I'm not going to," he concludes, sounding so conciliatory that Ellie almost belives him. Almost. Until he looks at all of them before zeroing in on Mike again. "But I will remind you all I did three tours overseas in wartime and I'm well aware of how to dispose of a body."

"John!" Aunt Lyla snaps as Mike gulps heavily, and Ellie's dad chokes on a laugh that earns him an elbow from her mother.

"You got me, son?" Diggle asks with a glib smile, clapping the boy on the shoulder.

The poor kid can only nod.

Sara groans and shoves her father's hand away with a beleaguered, " _Dad._ "

Uncle Digg isn't swayed. He's staring at Mike, waiting for a verbal answer.

"Y-yes, sir," the boy finally mutters.

"Then we've got ourselves an understanding." Uncle Digg smiles broadly. "Glad to hear it."

"And on _that_ patriarchal note," Jules says dryly. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Ellie can't ignore the stab of trepidation as she watches the older kids leave to a chorus of goodbyes and reminders of curfews. All too soon, though, the door shuts behind Sara, but not before she blows a kiss over her shoulder in Ellie's direction.

It makes her heart lurch in a combination of euphoria and despair. It's so much. It's _too_ much and Ellie can't help it when her hands start to shake and her eyes start to water. She bites her tongue, fighting to keep them at bay as she turns her head, but it does nothing.

She can't fall apart here, not now. Not with her parents and Sara's parents all _right there_ to see it all.

"I'm, uh…" Ellie turns. "I'm gonna go down to the gym," she manages. She doesn't look at anyone as she turns and hurries away toward the basement stairs, using her hair to hide her face as she goes.

She dimly hears someone call her name followed by her mother's soft, "Oliver…" as she goes, but she doesn't pay attention to any of it. She's not asking much. She helped Sara, held it together all day - all _year,_ really - and now all she wants is to not have a horrible breakdown in front of her parents and her best friend's parents because the girl she's in love with is at prom with someone else.

It's really not that much to ask, is it?

Ellie makes it to the bottom of the stairs, but not as far as the training mats before the sob in her throat cuts loose. It's the gateway to more, a harbinger of things to come. Her heart feels like it's just been shattered into a million pieces, all of them crashing to the floor and crunched under the feet of her best friend in the world. And the other girl hadn't even done it knowingly, would _never_ do it knowingly.

And yet…

Her knees buckle and her strength fades, draining her muscles to the point of exhaustion. She sinks down to the hard cement floor, not caring that it will be cold and uncomfortable…

Warm, familiar arms catch her before she reaches it.

Ellie jumps at the contact, a gasp getting caught in her throat. She hadn't heard anyone following her down. She hadn't _cared_. It's not like her. Not at all. She's been trained better than that, by the very man holding her upright. God, she hates feeling this way, she _hates_ it.

"I've got you, Ellie-bug."

His voice is soft and warm, full of more understanding than she'd been prepared for. It speaks to her, opening up the well of emotion she'd worked _so hard_ to keep sealed up tight. Something about the sound of his voice combined with the warm safety of his arms gives Ellie full permission to fall apart.

With a choked cry, she turns into him, gripping his shirt, clinging to him like he's the only thing keeping her standing. Because he is right now. He is.

"Daddy…"

It comes out as a half formed sob into his chest.

He just makes a hushing noise, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. The feel of his stubble pressing against her scalp is achingly familiar, reminding her of dozens of nights of sitting on his lap while he watched movie after movie with her when she was little. He rubs his hand against her back, like he used to do when she'd eaten too much ice cream, giving herself a stomachache.

"You don't have to say anything, sweetheart," he says.

Maybe it's the relief of his words, the blanket acceptance in them, but sobs wrack her body harder. Ellie presses her face further into his chest, breathing in the comforting smell of her father, and it only makes her cry harder. She soaks his shirt with her tears, letting him be her pillar of strength.

Because he is; he's her constant, through everything.

"I hate being left behind," she cries, her fingers curling into his collar. "I don't wanna feel this way. I want it to stop."

"Oh, Ellie-bug…" he breathes against her hair. He presses his lips to the crown of her head again. "That's not how love works, baby."

Ellie freezes… and not a split second later, a thread of gut-wrenching terror shoots down her spine. Because, as much as she's more likely to tell her dad something than anyone else in the world, as close as they are and as much as she adores him, this isn't something she's told him.

It's not something she's told anyone.

Of all the people in her life, she knows her dad is the most likely to be supportive. She _knows_ that. But knowing it is one thing; facing his reaction to this is another thing entirely. Because this… this is big. She's not sure she's ever been so scared in her entire life, and that's coming from a girl who's family is firmly entrenched in the vigilante business.

She's shaking. Her whole body vibrates with apprehension and absolute fear. She absently thinks she should look up at him, acknowledge him, but god, she can't even do that. No, she wants to time travel instead. Where's Uncle Barry when she needs him? Can't he take her back? Change all of this? Just a little bit. She doesn't need much time.

She's not ready for any of this.

Her breathing is too fast, too shallow, but she can't slow it down. Is she really digging her nails into him like that? Ellie tries to let go, but she can't.

She can't do anything.

Not until her father's gentle, calloused finger under her chin urges her to tilt her head up. He's a blurry mess from her tears, and as much as she is kind of okay with that, she still blinks rapidly so she can see him. The look he gives her as he takes in the terror undoubtedly etched into her every feature, has her face crumpling to keep another sob down.

"Oh, Ellie," he whispers, his voice sad.

"How'd you know?" she manages, swallowing on the last word because if she doesn't she really might be sick.

"You've been in love with Sara since before you knew what the word meant," he tells her. He smoothes her hair back, tucking a piece behind her ear. It's comforting. "It's not something I noticed out of the blue one day. It's just _you_. And I know you, Ellie. I know you better than I know anybody."

"And you're not…" The words falter, drying up inside her as the reality of what she's about to ask him hits her. _Oh god_. Her lips quiver and the tears filling her eyes are so much heavier than when this had just been about Sara. As much as she loves Sara Diggle, she's fifteen and her father is the single most important person in her life. This is so much bigger than some stupid date. "You're not… mad or disappointed or-"

"Hey, no," he counters immediately, cradling her face and brushing his thumbs across her dampened cheeks. "No. I love _you_ , Ellie. This is a part of who you are and I love that person so, _so_ very much. So I love this about you, too, because it's _you_. There is nothing you could ever do to disappoint me and there's absolutely nothing I would change about you, Ellie. Not ever. You are my daughter and I am so proud of you."

The words are something she didn't realize she needed to hear from him until they're out. Ellie's next sob is one of relief as she throws her arms around her father's neck, holding onto him as tightly as she can. She curls into him, babbling something, though she's not even sure what. It's a torrent of words long locked away in her mind, finally given the freedom to voice themselves.

"You can't lose me, Ellie," he promises, his voice fierce and a little shaken. It makes her wonder what she's saying as he tightens his arms around her. "Not ever. Not for anything. You understand?"

She's nodding, she realizes absently. It's almost compulsive, a silent but vehement agreement to his assertion, as she crushes herself against his chest. Ellie has known how she's felt for so long, longer than she can remember if she's being honest with herself, but she's never talked about it with anyone. She'd needed this. She hadn't even known how much, but it feels like a weight's evaporated off her shoulders, one she hadn't recognized was there. She's so relieved she feels like she might be sick.

But her father's love and acceptance isn't the only thing that matters.

"Does Mom know?" she mutters into her dad's shirt, clinging to him like the lifeline that he is.

"Yeah," he confirms softly as she gulps down a little sob.

"And does she…" Ellie can't even finish the thought, but it stays on repeat in her head. "Does she…"

"Your mom loves you so much, Ellie," he says, making her sag in relief against him. "She worries about you - about this, actually - because Sara's nineteen, sweetheart, and you're fifteen. That's a huge difference when you're so young and your mom doesn't want you to get your heart broken."

Ellie almost mutters, ' _Too late,'_ before reeling it back in. Because her mother has a point, the same point that Ellie's been telling herself over and over. Four years is a long, _long_ time.

"But that you love Sara?" her dad continues. He chuckles, shaking his head. "I think she's just glad you have better taste in who to have a crush on than either she or I did at your age."

Ellie pinches her eyes shut, but even that can't keep the tears in. There's entirely too much emotion swirling through her and it's overwhelming. But it's not bad. It feels like growing pains, like she's being stretched and remolded into who she's supposed to become.

"Did you think we'd be upset?" her dad asks, with no small trace of concern in his voice.

"I didn't know what to think," Ellie admits. "I wasn't gonna say anything. Not yet."

"I'm sorry for forcing the conversation when you weren't ready, kiddo," he tells her, kissing the top of her head for what feels like the millionth time, but it buoys her the way it always does. "I wouldn't have if I hadn't thought you needed someone to talk to."

"Yeah," Ellie agrees, looking up at him and not even trying to hide her tear-stained face and red-rimmed eyes. This is her dad, the most important person in her entire life, and for the first time in forever, she feels like there's nothing she has to hide from him. "I did."

"You should talk to your mom later," he tells her. "Or just hug her and tell her you love her. You don't have to say anything, but I think you both need to know you're on the same page."

"Okay." Ellie nods before another thought occurs to her and the blood drains from her face a bit. "Uncle Digg and Aunt Lyla don't know, do they?" An even _worse_ thought suddenly hits her, one that has her stomach pitching so hard and fast she really might just throw up. "Oh _god_ , Sara doesn't know, right? I don't know if I could-"

"Hey, slow down," Oliver counsels, cupping her face again and stroking her cheeks soothingly. "If they know, they haven't said anything and your mom and I definitely aren't going to. It's not our place." Warmth fills Ellie's chest at that, and she gives him a shaky, but grateful smile. They aren't perfect, by any means, but she did get really lucky with her parents. Like really, _really_ lucky. "For what it's worth, though, I know Digg and Lyla pretty damn well, and I can't see either one of them being upset about any of this." His lips quirk. "Although your Uncle Digg _might_ remind you he did a few tours of duty."

Ellie laughs. The sound is almost foreign to her ears and it takes her by surprise, but maybe it shouldn't. Her dad's always found a way to bring joy out in her. It makes him grin, because he's a cheesy dork and he loves bad jokes that he thinks are _hilarious_.

He's so self-satisfied at the way he's shifted this conversation and the pride on his face is so ridiculous that it makes her laugh even harder until she's cut off by her own hiccup.

This man standing before her is the fearsome Arrow, a Bratva captain and the scourge of the Triad. He's state senator and champion of Starling City in more ways than one. But more than that, he's her father, and this is him at his most honest. This is who he is. The rest of it, Ellie knows, those are the masks.

"You're the best dad in the whole world," Ellie says.

Her words hit him hard. Both of them are keenly aware that this conversation could have gone very differently. It _has_ gone very differently for plenty of kids.

They're the lucky ones.

He nods, kissing her forehead. When he pulls back his eyes are red-rimmed and watery, but she can feel the love radiating from them. "Only because you made me one, Ellie-bug," he replies, his voice gritty and affected.

She just smiles back at him.

There's no need for more words. They've already said all the important ones.

After a moment, Ellie lets go of him. She steps back, taking a cleansing breath as she wipes at her eyes.

"You okay?" he asks her.

"Yeah," she says, and it feels more true now than it has in ages. "Yeah, I'm great, Daddy."

His soft smile deepens, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling as he watches her. She doesn't call him that much anymore. She's outgrown it, but right now she feels very much like her father's little girl and it just fits.

"I do wish I could have gone to the dance, too, though," she admits. "Even if it was just to hang out at the punch bowl and dance with a group of friends. It would have been nice."

"Well… Maybe we can fix that."

She raises an eyebrow. " _How_?"

He extends his hand to her. "I don't have a punch bowl, but can I have this dance?"

Ellie scoffs, staring at him like she's waiting for him to take it back. Because this is _ridiculous_ … but it's also just so _him_. He waits patiently, his hand stretched out towards her, letting her take stock of the situation.

After a second, she tentatively puts her hand in his. "But you hate dancing."

"At big staged events, I absolutely do," he agrees before pulling her closer, putting his hand on her waist. "But with my daughter in the gym? That's another story."

"There's not any music," Ellie protests.

"We could make our own," he says before putting up a finger. "But I draw the line at singing." Ellie giggles, knowing he's talking about their last family Christmas party when Roy had somehow talked him into getting up and doing just that. He smiles. "You could hum, if you want?"

"Nah." Ellie loops her arms around his neck. "I think this is pretty perfect just the way it is."

His smile grows. "Me, too," he agrees.

Neither of them notice when her mom quietly makes her way down the stairs, but the picture she snaps of them dancing in the poorly-lit gym with drained, tear-stained faces and a background filled with exercise equipment forever remains Ellie's favorite. It will sit side-by-side with the other photo from tonight, the one of her with Sara smiling upstairs. Because, imperfect as it is, it perfectly captures the moment and it perfectly captures her relationship with her father.

When everything else gets messy, when it feels like the world is falling apart around her and her heart is crushed, he'll be there to help pick up the pieces and mend them back together.

Always.


	3. September 2035

Nate's always been a good kid.

He's sweet, helpful, maybe a little bit needy… alright, definitely needy, but it's easy to look past that when he gives her that little smile of his. He held her hand at the bus stop well after all his friends decided they were too old for that kind of thing. He's happy to tell his mother all about his day. And he's there when she needs an extra hand, as well as when she doesn't, although she doesn't say no to the extra help.

All-in-all, Felicity counts herself incredibly lucky when it comes to her youngest. She loves all of her children, but if she and Oliver had gotten another Jules, she has no idea how she would have coped.

Despite that, his considerate nature seems so amplified in the last few days that it's borderline absurd.

Maybe it's Jules moving out - and moving _in_ with her boyfriend, something surely designed to turn the rest of her father's hair gray - or maybe it's the painful truth that Ellie's only a year away from college. Felicity's not sure, but whatever it is has Nate positively _doting_ on her lately.

To say it's throwing her for a loop is an understatement.

"Hey, Mom, I've got that," Nate says as he rounds the corner.

Felicity looks up from where she's doing the dishes in time to see him tripping over his oversized feet as he barrels into the kitchen. He's all limbs these days, her boy. Growth spurts have been near constant this last year and while his frame keeps lengthening and he outgrows clothes in the blink of an eye, he hasn't filled out to match his height at all, leaving him endearingly gangly and awkward.

She sighs as he reaches her side, taking the plate from her hand. He keeps his eyes on his task, missing Felicity arching an eyebrow at him as he starts scrubbing. She _is_ thrilled to have help cleaning up, especially since her wrist is in a brace after getting knocked around a bit on a mission gone _slightly_ wrong earlier this week. But, these past few days it's becoming less like he's trying to help and more like he's trying to take over.

He's treating her with kid gloves and she doesn't know _why_.

"Thank you, Nate, but don't you have homework to do?" she asks with a pointed look.

"I have it scheduled," he assures her with a nod, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his free hand, giving her an enthusiastic grin full of shiny metal. The braces come off next month. "I have time to help you out, too."

The ridiculous thing is he probably has an alarm set for when to do his homework. Her little boy - god, he's almost fourteen; he's not such a little boy anymore - he's the sort of person who works things out with charts and graphs, makes to-do lists and actually follows them all the way to the end. Everything needs a plan with Nate. It always has. He's meticulously organized and completely goal-oriented, sometimes to the point where he loses sight of everything else going on around him.

It's confused his father from day one and it still does today. After all, the only lists Oliver ever followed involved crossing people _off_ of them.

"You helped me cook, honey," Felicity reminds him as he rinses the plate off. She moves to take it from him but he waves her off, drying it himself. She barely keeps herself from rolling her eyes. "And I appreciate that - I'm pretty sure the whole family appreciates that, actually, and possibly your local fire department - but aren't there other things you'd rather do than help your mom with dishes?"

"No, I'm good," Nate says, shaking his head as he reaches up to put the plate away at the top of the cabinet. "I like spending time with you, Mom. Besides," he adds with a shrug, "I'm taller than you now. It's easier for me to reach the top shelf."

Felicity huffs, hitting him with a dish towel, making Nate laugh as he wards off the towel with his free hand.

It's true, much to the aching of her heart; her baby is taller than her. _Barely_. But when he laughs he still sounds like her little boy, like the child who'd curled up on her lap giggling as she tickled him. She's grateful she gets to hold onto that in some fashion for at least a little bit longer. It seems more and more like he's turning into a young man right before her eyes, and a big part of her wants to grab hold of the child who always wanted _one_ more story, _one_ more cuddle, and never let go. It's unusual for a teenage boy to be so close to his mother, she thinks, but she and Nate have always had a special bond.

She wishes he had anywhere near the same kind of connection to Oliver, but it's always been a struggle with them. Despite efforts on both their parts, they've never quite understood each other.

Before he can dry off the next one, Felicity says, "How about I dry? And then you can use your newfound height to put them away. Okay?" She can actually _see_ the reluctance on his face, but he doesn't argue, conceding with a small nod. After a moment of working together - _gingerly_ , because her wrist isn't entirely up to par - Felicity asks, "How are classes going?"

Nate's eyes light up in excitement and a full grin tugs at his lips. "Good," he replies. "Miss Jackson said we can do 'Take Your Child To Work' day next month. So, I get to go with you to the office! I thought I might make an organizational chart, you know? Mark off everyone I talk to and write up what they tell me about what they do."

That kind of plan will get him an 'A' for sure, but that's not Nate's concern. Not _this_ time anyhow. Any less than a perfect grade has led to Nate holing himself up in his room with his notes and his imperfect work, all his focus zeroing in on what he did wrong until he has it sorted out. Sometimes he's forgotten everything else in the process, up to and including food.

There are times he's very much his mother's son.

She can't even count the number of times Oliver's said to her in a worried, quiet voice that Nate isn't meant to hear - " _I don't understand. What's wrong with a 'B?' Does he think we need him to be perfect?"_ Oliver doesn't get it, but she does. After decades of focusing on creating flawless code, she definitely gets it. Nate's dedication to perfection just shows itself in different ways than hers does.

But this time isn't about the grade, not even a little.

Nate's been enamored with the idea of working at Queen Incorporated since he could say the words. Back when he'd still been in the company daycare, all his classmates had wanted to play house - he'd wanted to play office. It _had_ been cute, at the time. Mommy's little Junior CEO, the teachers had called him. But that's not a thing that's ever faded for Nate and the chance to spend a school day in the office means he probably already has a suit picked out and ready to go, even a month in advance.

It's just one more way that Nate and Oliver don't quite connect.

Nate absolutely cannot wait to spend his days trapped in a cubicle going over reports day in and day out. Oliver could not have avoided that life more ardently had he tried. Quietly, Felicity really doesn't think Moira's helping things on that front, either. The way she dotes on Nate, how she talks about the way he's fulfilling all the hopes she'd once had for his father, it's only furthered the wedge between them.

They get along fine most of the time, Nate and Oliver. They're amiable and she knows they love each other, but they have so very little in common, and Felicity wishes with all her heart that the two most important men in her life could just find some common ground - something, _anything_ \- to bond over. She'd always assumed that would happen some day, as Nate got older and developed new interests or looked to his father for guidance more, but it hasn't yet. She's secretly afraid it never will.

Most days, it seems like the only thing the two men have in common is _her_.

"You know…" Felicity ventures, very aware that she's meddling and that he won't like this idea in the least. It's worth a try, though. "You go to QI all the time. It might be more interesting to go with your dad to his office. His actual office, I mean, not his Arrow Cave office… _obviously_. No writing papers about that! I'm not sure I could manage a Team Arrow organizational chart, anyhow."

She expects to get a good natured laugh at the absurd notion of his writing a paper about his father being the Arrow, quickly followed by a list of reasons QI is a better idea, but that's not what she gets. At all.

Nate's entire frame stiffens, his muscles bunching up in tension as he stands taller, his lips pursing in displeasure. "No," he says, shaking his head. His voice is uncharacteristically sharp and tinged with something dark she really does not like. "I'm not going to his office. To either of them. I want to stay with you."

Felicity blinks in astonishment. It's not the words that throw her so much as the tone. Nate is soft-spoken, good-natured and affectionate. He's definitely _not_ moody or closed off or angry - Jules has more than cornered the market on those qualities.

That he's taking a few pages out of his sister's book is throwing Felicity for more than a loop.

She pauses, setting down the dish towel. She ignores his outstretched hand waiting for another plate. He doesn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the cabinet shelf in front of him while his jaw twitches. He's never had to hide anything from her before - he's never had any reason to - and he's failing horribly at it. Even in profile she can see his whole face tighten as he avoids her gaze and his lips purse ever tighter, like he's trying to keep his words in with physical force alone.

A long moment of heavy silence passes. It's clear he wants her to drop it, to hand him a plate and for them to continue as they were, but this is not something she's about to let slide without explanation.

When he still doesn't elaborate, Felicity asks, "What's going on, Nate?"

"Nothing," he says abruptly. He reaches past her to grab the last plate. He starts scrubbing it with a gusto that's almost alarming. He still doesn't look at her though as he rinses the plate off and dries it himself, putting it away as he says, "I just think QI is a better fit for me, you know? Government's never been my thing."

He still won't look at her, not until she rests a hand on his shoulder. He's still tense and when he finally does meet her gaze, there's a mixture of anger and guilt that confuse the hell out of her.

"Hey, talk to me," Felicity says. "What's this about?"

A vast array of emotions war with each other on his face, every battle played out across his features for her to see. When he licks his lips and rubs his thumb against his forefinger, she knows he's reached some sort of conclusion, in spite of the fact he's itching for a different solution. For all that they don't share any interests, Oliver and Nate _do_ share all the same mannerisms.

There are times her son looks so very much like his father that it's striking.

Like right now, when he's clearly anxious about whatever he's going to say. And he is going to answer her. She knows this, because she knows her son, but just as Nate opens his mouth to speak, the man in question appears in the doorway.

"Hey," Oliver says, his voice quiet as he makes his way over to them. His eyes are warm with affection as they meet hers before casting a glance to the sink. "I thought I told you I'd do that." Ever after decades together, his tone still makes her all gooey inside. She used to wonder if that would ever go away, but she's oh so pleased it hasn't. He smiles at her - his _Felicity_ smile - as he sidles up next to her, his hand landing on her lower back, his fingers dancing over the gentle slope of her backside as he rubs small circles there. "You shouldn't be using your wrist so much."

She snorts under her breath - she'd really like to show him just how functional her wrist actually is at the moment - but Nate's voice kills that notion on the spot.

"I took care of it," the teenager bites out, all the bitterness from earlier rearing its head again, coming back with a vengeance.

All the warmth on Oliver's face instantly melts away as he looks at his son… his very _angry_ son. Confusion hardens the lines on Oliver's brow and around his eyes as he raises an eyebrow at him.

"Excuse me?" Oliver asks, with a very different edge to his voice.

Nate moves to take a step closer to his father. It's a _challenge_ , and for a split second, that leaves Felicity reeling because this does _not_ happen between them. She tightens her hand on Nate's shoulder, starting, "Nate, what…?" but the look on his face steals the rest of her words. There's so much frustrated pain painted across his features that it socks Felicity in the gut, leaving her breathless. He's always looked like a scrawnier, nerdier version of his father, but that has never been as obvious as right now.

She knows that expression.

She hasn't seen that level of self-blame on her husband's face in decades, but it's burned into her memory so fiercely that it's scarred across her mind's eye.

"Nate…" she starts again, though she really has no idea what she's going to say. What she _could_ say. He's too young to be looking at anyone like that.

But Nate looks away, back toward his father, and he angles himself between his parents, forcing Oliver to drop his hand and step back.

Protectively, she'll realize later. He's standing in front of her _protectively_.

Between her and Oliver.

"What…?" she manages, glancing at Oliver. His eyes are narrowed at Nate, more in concern and confusion more than anything, but there's an underlying irritation that she's never seen directed at their son before. Something is _clearly_ happening and she doesn't like it one bit. Felicity moves to step around the teen, to put herself between them as she says, "Nate-"

He cuts her off before she can finish, though.

"It's bad enough she got hurt because of you," Nate declares, his voice resolute but shaking. "I wasn't going to let her make it worse doing _dishes_."

 _Oh. My. God._

For a very, _very_ long moment, there is no sound in the kitchen. It all catches up to her in a rush as recognition of exactly what his son is saying settles across her husband's face. His features darken, his brow furrowing, and the only thing Felicity hears is the violent pounding of her heartbeat in her throat. The protracted silence between them suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as son and father face off.

"Nate," Felicity cautions, pulling on his sleeve. "Honey, you aren't-"

"You wouldn't be getting hurt if he didn't insist on jumping off of rooftops every night!" Nate interrupts, his voice cracking as it rises in his anger. He turns a hard glare at his father. "You're old, Dad! And you're being selfish! And you're gonna get Mom killed one day because you can't stop playing superhero!"

"Selfish?" Oliver repeats darkly.

"Yes," Nate snaps, doubling down.

" _I'm_ selfish."

"Yes."

"You _know_ why I do this, Nathaniel," Oliver replies. The patience he's showing with their youngest is at the very edge of its limits and Felicity knows it. She can see it in the way his jaw clenches and his fingernails bite into his palms, but Nate either doesn't know or doesn't care.

"Yeah," Nate huffs dismissively, rolling his eyes. Felicity finds herself gripping his sleeve tighter as Oliver clenches his teeth at the blatant disrespect. "Because grandpa told you to right his wrongs and somehow you took that to mean you needed to be a vigilante and spend your whole life _illegally_ fighting crime. Forget saving the city. What about saving your family? Who cares if you save the damned city when you can't even save my mom?"

"I have saved your mom," Oliver grits out. "Dozens of times. _Hundreds_ of times. I will _always_ save your mother."

"Yeah, well, she wouldn't need saving in the first place if it wasn't for you."

It's the closest thing to a verbal slap in the face that Felicity can even think of. She can't quite cage in the horrible mournful noise that wells up in the back of her throat at her son's harsh words. God, he couldn't be more wrong.

The look on Oliver's face is downright dangerous as he takes a step toward his son.

An uneasy chill falls down Felicity's spine.

He has never once raised a hand to any of their kids and he never will, even if Nate is absolutely testing that resolve right now. But her son, her sweet non-confrontational little boy, lifts his chin in a clear challenge and an obvious statement that he's not backing down.

Neither, history tells her, will Oliver.

The air in the kitchen crackles with animosity and when she sees Nate's hands curling into tight fists - Oliver doesn't miss it either, judging by the way his shoulders suddenly tighten - Felicity finally snaps.

"Alright, that's enough," she announces, finding her voice. She tugs Nate back as she steps between the two men. "I said that's _enough_."

The room is _stifling_ and she doesn't even know how they got here. How the hell did she wind up seriously wondering if her thirteen year old son was going to throw a punch at his vigilante father? Because she is, right now. She's actually _worried_ about that. And while Oliver would never hit him back, he'd have the boy flat on his back inside of a second, provided the teen didn't take himself down by either missing entirely or breaking his hand.

"You two need to cool down," she snaps, eyes darting from one man to the other as she whips her head back and forth. " _Now_." Her tone has Nate immediately backing down, but Oliver… Hurt, anger and confusion skate over his face, but it wasn't him who was going to escalate things. It was their son. She turns back to Nate. "I get that your heart's in the right place, Nate, that you want to protect me. But, kiddo, you're not. Go upstairs and calm down. I'm going to talk to your father and then I'll be up in a minute."

"But, Mom-"

Felicity cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head. "Now, Nate."

"But…"

His tone is all childlike again, like the Nate she knows, the one she's used to. She'd forgotten, somehow, that this is what it's like with teenagers, in spite of the fact that she has another one still under her roof. She just hadn't expected this from Nate - the push and pull between childhood and adulthood, the way it manifests in both words and actions that are too bold and too brash with far too little understanding behind them. Jules more than prepared them for what having a wayward teenager was like, and Ellie has just always been so easy, if a little too desperate to grow up as fast as possible.

She guesses she'd just assumed he'd be as easy to navigate as her.

Oops.

Her voice softens as she says, "Go on," with a nod towards the stairs.

It takes a few seconds, but he finally does. But not before casting an unforgiving look at his father and not without stomping his way up the stairs with those too-big shoes of his.

Felicity sighs the second he's out of sight. Her head falls back as the tightness in her shoulders melts away. She moves to rub the bridge of her nose only to realize she's using the hand with the wrist brace. Twisting her hand in this thing to navigate around her glasses is near impossible.

A pained noise from Oliver's direction and it hits her that any move emphasizing the damn brace is not a great idea at the moment. She looks at him in time to catch a crestfallen look before he scrubs his face with both hands as he falls back a few steps, taking a deep breath. He takes things to heart, he always has, but it's especially prevalent when it comes to his family.

"He's wrong, Oliver," Felicity says, closing the distance between them. She places her hands on his chest, looking up at him. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," he says, gently taking both her hands in his. He runs his thumbs over the backs of her hands lightly. One of them catches on the brace. She sees the shift almost instantly as he says, "Mostly."

"No," Felicity says, her voice hard with resolve, because she will _not_ let that stand. "There's no mostly about it." She squeezes his fingers tightly until he looks her in the eye. "You are _by far_ the least selfish person I have ever met. He doesn't get it, Oliver. He doesn't know what this city was like before, and I am _so_ grateful for that. It's because of everything you've done for this city that he doesn't know. Talk about a catch-22. And he also doesn't seem to understand that you aren't the one putting me in danger - _I_ am. Now," she says, shaking his hands slightly, "I understand why he might not be clear on that, but don't _you_ dare forget it."

He huffs out a barely audible chuckle. "I know," he says with a nod. He ducks his head to kiss her knuckles. "I know that. I do. I just hate that you still get hurt because of… of what we do. I can't blame him for wanting you safe." He stares into her eyes, conveying just how much Nate's words hurt and just how little they see how very similar they really are. "I do, too."

"Well, that's _one_ thing you two can agree on." Felicity lets out a frustrated sigh. "Oliver… I know you love our son and he loves you, too. But it kills me that you two can't find something - _anything -_ to bond over. Sports. Music. The _weather_. Whatever. Just… He's growing up so fast - too fast - and whether he knows it or not, he's going to need his dad, sooner or later. I know that he will always be able to come to you, but… I need him to know it, too."

"Sometimes it feels like we aren't even speaking the same language," Oliver admits, and the uncertainty he feels when it comes to his son resonates in his voice. It's obvious how much it weighs on him. It's a different kind of strain that works its way through his muscles, an old one that's frequent enough that he must think it normal at this point.

"Then you both need to become bilingual," Felicity says firmly.

She can see he wants to point out that he already speaks quite a few languages already, but he bites it back, which shows exactly how serious he's taking what just happened. He does try, he really does. But Nate is so smart and _focused_. He already has his future mapped out in a spreadsheet - literally, probably - and that only lends itself more towards Oliver feeling like his son doesn't really need him. But there are other ways… he just has to find them.

"I'll work on it," Oliver promises, though she can see that he has not clue how to do that. But he means it, which has warmth filling her chest.

Felicity smiles. "Good," she says, pulling his hands to her lips. She kisses his knuckles before giving him a wider grin. "You can bring him with you to 'Take Your Child To Work Day' next month."

Oliver grimaces. "He's going to hate that, honey. He'd much rather go with you and you know it."

"You leave that to me," she replies. She cups his face, pulling him down closer to her so she can kiss him. She runs her hand up and over his brow, trying to erase the lines still furrowed there. The tension softens at her touch, but only slightly.

This evening has left its mark.

She wishes it hadn't. Oliver already has too many scars as it is.

But with her help, these will heal, too, just like his other wounds throughout the years. Right now, though, she has a sullen teenage son to deal with.

Felicity steps back and soaks in her husband's appearance. It's been a very long time since she's seen this level of self-blame on his face and it guts her to think he's been hurt so badly.

She wonders if Nate even knows how much power he has over his father.

She doubts it.

"I love you," Felicity says. Her voice is soft but filled with such a fierce vehemence that it has Oliver's eyes snapping back to hers. She cups his cheeks, staring into his eyes. "And I'm proud of you and the work we do," she finishes, like her words alone can fortify him. And maybe they can, because he smiles a little as he shakes his head, which is more than she'd expected.

"I love you, too," he replies. "And I'm proud of us, too. I just wish our son was."

She does, too.

"I'll be back down in a bit," she tells him. "Why don't you give Digg a call and let him know we won't be there tonight, unless there's an emergency?"

"Yeah," he agrees.

She moves to step back but he snatches her back before she can get very far, pulling her into a tight hug. He winds his arms around her waist, pressing his face into the space between her neck and shoulder, a spot that seems specifically designed for him. She holds him back just as hard, knowing he needs this, gladly helping him shoulder the weight of tonight, of his relationship - or lack thereof - with his son, of everything. Felicity kisses the side of his neck, grateful that he lets her in so readily, and even more determined to find a way to bridge the gap between the two most important men in her life.

When she finally moves to the stairs again, he follows a few steps behind with a soft, "Felicity?"

She stops on the bottom step and looks back at him.

He hesitates, looking like he's trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say. He shuffles in one spot, pushing his hands into his pockets. _God_ , he looks so much like Nate did, lost and unsure. Unlike with her son, though, she just stands nearby and waits for him to speak.

"You'll tell me, right?" he asks finally. Felicity furrows her brow, not sure what he's asking. He licks his lips, vulnerability lining his features. "You'll tell me when I'm too old for this. When _we're_ too old for this."

Felicity blinks. This is the first time he's said _anything_ like that, and she's not sure what to do with it. "Uh…"

"I'm 50," he points out before she can respond. "I don't know that I'll ever be ready to give it up, but… at some point… I'm going to have to."

She'd be lying if she didn't wonder about it herself sometimes. He's been injured more times than she'd like to remember, and it hasn't escaped her attention that he's taking longer and longer to recover each time. And that's just new injuries. His knee has had problems ever since she's known him and while they've managed to stay ahead of it as much as they can, it's not something that's ever going to get better.

Oliver may be in incredibly good shape, but he's only human, and he is as bound by those limitations as much as any of them.

"Yeah," she agrees after a beat. "You are." His face falls slightly, like he was expecting her to call him crazy for even thinking it, but she's not going to lie to him. Especially because he already knows it's true. He didn't need Nate pointing it out to him, just like he doesn't need her lying to him about it. Felicity smiles. "But not yet."

At those three words, a weight slides off his shoulders. He gives her a smile, a truly beautiful smile that lights up his face, and it's like he takes the first full breath since he walked into the kitchen. Being the Arrow is a tremendous part of his identity and while one day, he will have to give it up, it's not right now. And the idea that his son thinks he needs to stop… it'd hit him on a level the boy surely could not have expected.

But what does Nate know? He's thirteen. He hasn't had to deal with the realities of middle age.

"Yeah." Oliver nods, blinking hard as he breathes out again through thinned lips. "Okay."

"You good?" Felicity asks, watching him for a reaction rather than listening for a response because she knows her husband well.

"Yeah," he says, and his body language agrees. "I'm fine. Go talk to Nate, and let me know when you're done. I'd like to have a chat with him, too."

' _Like to'_ is probably too strong a phrase, but Felicity isn't about to argue semantics.

Instead, she nods with a whispered, "Okay," and hurries up the stairs to her son's room on the third floor.

Unlike his sisters, Nate's room is generally spotless. Ellie's always been prone to leave her things all over the place, sports equipment and books and photographs. Before moving out, Jules' room had always been equal parts wet paint, dance gear and piles of records. _Actual_ records. She likes to be 'retro' which Felicity decided years ago is code for 'make her technology-guru mother's eye twitch.' But not Nate. No, her little boy is fastidious; everything has to be in its place. Unless, of course, he's focused on a problem.

Like today.

So, yeah, after she knocks on his door and he invites her in, she's not at all surprised to find his room a bit of a disaster. By Nate's standards, anyhow.

And he's not faring much better.

He's sitting on the end of his bed, one foot perched on the other knee. His shoe is off and he's rubbing his toes with a wince. His shirt's rumpled, hair messy, and his shoulders are slumped. In this instant, she can't decide who she feels worst for - Nate or Oliver. They're both hurting and she wants to take it all away.

Nate stares at his foot, not looking at her. Felicity sits down next to him, leaning against him a little. The bed dips and creaks under their combined weight. It wasn't that long ago it didn't do that. He's grown so much lately…

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah…" He nods before sheepishly admitting, "I kicked the bed."

Ah, the missing shoe suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.

"And it kicked back?" Felicity asks dryly. It earns her a laugh and a little smile, so she can't care in the least that she's being cheesy as hell.

"It's hard!" he protests, waving at the frame. "That's solid wood!"

His head's a heck of a lot harder today, but she's not going to bring that up.

"Well," Felicity says, patting his leg. "I'm glad you're sticking to inanimate objects, anyhow. You didn't break anything, did you?"

"No." He makes a face, his cheek flushing. "But I think I broke the shoe. It caught on the edge and something tore."

She holds back a sigh at that. Of _course_ he did. He probably needed new ones anyhow. He's going through shoes and jeans as fast as he's going through gallons of milk these days. At this rate, he's going to be taller than his father by the end of high school and won't _that_ go over well with Oliver.

"It's just a shoe," she says, sliding her arm around her son and resting her head on his shoulder. He relaxes, melting into her, and it only reinforces how much he's still a little boy. Even if he's suddenly thinking himself a man. "Your dad loves you, Nate."

"I know," he mumbles, speaking more to his broken shoe on the floor than to her.

"He loves me, too," she points out.

"Yeah," Nate agrees. "I just… I don't like you getting hurt, Mom. I worry about you."

As sweet as that is, it's also the core of the problem, and while she'd very much like to let it go, she can't. Felicity kisses his cheek before sitting up taller, forcing him to do the same. "I promise you he feels the same way, sweetheart."

"Then why doesn't he give it up?" Nate demands, his voice rising again, but not in anger this time. No, it's all frustration that burns in his throat and wells up in his eyes. He just doesn't understand. Not at all. He scowls at the floor, dropping his foot with a heavy thud as he looks at her with his bewildered and confused blue eyes. "Why doesn't he just quit so you don't have to go out there and risk yourself to keep him safe?"

"Oh, Nate." Felicity sighs, resting her chin on his bony shoulder, meeting his eyes. "Honey, I'm not _you_."

It only confuses him further. He doesn't like when things don't make sense to him and his brows pull together as he tries to suss out her meaning.

"I don't do this for your father," she clarifies, rubbing a hand up Nate's back like she used to when he was just a baby.

"What do you mean?" he asks. "Of course you do."

"No, Nate," she shakes her head. "I don't. I do this for _me_. I have never wanted to be tucked away in an office while the world passes by outside. At least, I haven't wanted to do _only_ that. It's not who I am. That kind of life isn't enough for me."

She knows the minute she says it that he misunderstands her further. Alarm taints his eyes as he stares at her, his mind jumping to conclusions that are so outlandish she almost laughs. Thank _goodness_ she can read him as well as she can - he and Oliver sharing so many mannerisms does come in handy sometimes.

"That's not what I meant," she says, smoothing a piece of hair off his forehead. "Being a mom to you and your sisters, being your dad's wife, those are the most important roles I'll ever have." It settles his worried look instantly, his shoulders relaxing. "I wouldn't trade those things for anything. But my life can't _just_ be that. I'm a part of Team Arrow because it helps me do good. It gives me purpose, something greater than myself. It's a different kind of legacy than the one we've built with our family. Do you understand?"

Nate's quiet as he turns to stare at his hands, but she can see his brilliant mind working.

"No," he says finally, the admission clearly costing him something to voice. "I don't."

Felicity smiles, pressing her mouth into his shoulder so her amusement isn't quite as obvious. But this is so very Nate and she's so grateful that he's at least being honest with her.

"That's okay," she tells him. "You might never really understand. You aren't built like me, honey. Or like your father or Ellie or even Jules. And you don't have to be. You're _you_. The things that drive you are different. And I love that about you, Nater-Tater-Bug."

He laughs at the old nickname, casting her a glance as his cheeks flush in embarrassment. Felicity grins, not bothering to hide it from him this time.

"You're never going to be a vigilante, baby," she continues. "I know that. And so does your father. It's not part of who you are and we don't expect that to change. But we _do_ expect you to respect that it is part of who _we_ are."

"And Ellie," he adds.

That sends a twist to her gut that terrifies her, so much that it stalls her response.

He's right, though. He's absolutely right. Ellie's been begging to be on the team for years now. They've put her off so far - seventeen is too damn young, and that's something Team Arrow _all_ agrees on - but Felicity has an ever-present mix of both pride and terror living in her veins as she thinks about what that inevitable first night watching over her daughter from the comms will be like.

But that's a problem for another night.

"And Ellie," she says, her voice a little thicker. She huffs out a tiny laugh, nudging him. "But, I'm pretty sure you're the only one who's going to step up on the legitimate side of the family business."

"Well… someone in this family has to be respectable," he replies. Felicity lets out a short, "Ha!" as he says, "And it's pretty clear it's gonna have to be me."

She laughs, shoving her shoulder into him so that they bump together. He wraps an arm around her and holds her close. It's a stark contrast to even a month ago. He's getting so big, and it makes her even more grateful for her sweet boy, and how easily they can talk to each other.

"So," Felicity says, looking at him as she swats his knee. "You're not going to school tomorrow."

Nate's eyebrows fly up in surprise. And maybe even a hint of disappointment. "I'm not?"

"Nope," she tells him. "You're going to be sick. So sick that I have to take you with me to work so you can draw an organizational chart. Doctor's orders."

"I _like_ this doctor," he declares with a grin.

"I figured you would," Felicity says, before adding, "Doctor's orders aren't done though. Because then you're going to the Arrow Cave with us."

" _Mom_."

"Just to watch," she amends, stroking his hair back from his brow. "It's unreasonable to expect you to appreciate what we do if you don't _know_ what we do. It's different firsthand than it is talking about it around the dinner table."

"Fine," he relents, because - bless him - Nate has always been willing to see reason, and she does have a solid point.

"Good," she says, before pushing her luck. "And for 'Take Your Child To Work Day' you're going with your father."

"Aw, _Mom_ , come on," he whines. He sounds five years old and while that should be annoying considering his age, it just makes her grin. "Do I have to?"

"Yes." She nods, his question reminding her of what had just transpired downstairs. Felicity sighs. "You hurt your dad tonight, Nate." His face falls and he looks down, his neck coloring with shame. He knows he did, and he doesn't like it. Which is _good_. Felicity continues, "I know you didn't mean to and I know your heart's in the right place, but you did. And just telling him you're sorry isn't enough. You need to try to find some kind of common ground with him. For me. And, really, for yourselves. Because you're both amazing men and you should have a bigger part in each other's lives. If you had any idea…"

She cuts herself off, shaking her head.

Telling him how excited Oliver had been when she'd gotten pregnant with him, how he'd lit up with utter joy even though they were already so incredibly taxed by everything else in their lives… that isn't going to make an impact now. They need to form some kind of relationship on their own. And she's done all she can to put them on that path.

The rest is up to them.

"Okay," Nate agrees. From the way he's looking at her, she wonders how long she's been staring off into space, reliving that early morning in her mind. It's Nate's turn to nudge her. "I'll go with him."

Felicity smiles. "Thank you," she says, kissing him on the forehead before standing. "And you know, I bet the state government has an organizational chart, too. If you ask your dad very nicely, he might even give you a copy. Or a civics book. One of the two."

"Ha, ha," Nate tells her, rolling his eyes. "You're hilarious, mom."

"Thank you for recognizing that," she replies, heading towards his door. She stops before leaving, glancing back at him. "And Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for trying to stick up for me," she says. "Even if I didn't need it."

"I'll always stick up for you. You're my mom," he replies, like it's exactly that simple.

And she's lucky - she's _so_ lucky - because, to him, it is.


	4. March 2022

A/N - Elephant Ears are a doughy sugary pastry item often sold at state fairs and the like, for those who do not have them in their area and might have been quite confused in this chapter without knowing that.

* * *

 **March 2022**

Ellie buzzes with so much excitement that Felicity can barely get her coat buttoned.

The toddler jumps up and down as Oliver pulls the girls' wagon out of their SUV, a soft smile on his face as Felicity nods along, responding to Ellie's nonstop chatter in-between buttoning her up.

Jules is quiet at her father's side, focused on fastening her own coat and tugging the collar snug around her neck.

It's been a chilly March this year, colder than usual. Just when he'd thought it was starting to let it up, an ice storm rolled through town last week, leaving the air biting enough to turn noses and ears red. Felicity hasn't minded. In fact, she's been incredibly vocal about how grateful she is for the weather. Heavily pregnant with their son - who is still two and a half months away from being born - heat more than bothers her. Oliver's lost count of how many times he's found her standing in front of their open freezer, savoring the brisk air. Just last night he'd had to maneuver around her for the chicken he wanted to cook up this weekend.

But that's for _her_. She might only be wearing a light sweater today, but she's a firm ' _yes, always, absolutely'_ when it comes to coats for the girls.

It's a mom thing, she says. He doesn't question it.

"An' they got monkeys and giraffes and hippopopamatuses!" Ellie cries with delight, bouncing on her toes in absolutely delight. "And _elephants_!"

Jules face is impassive as she dryly asks, "Hippopotami?"

"Them, too!" Ellie declares, her face utterly alive with joy.

Despite herself, her little sister's response gets to her, and his generally reserved, sarcastic girl loses a fight with a smile. Oliver can't help the chuckle that rises up in his own chest as he tugs his older daughter to his side in a one-armed hug. She allows it, but just for a minute before slipping away, and not without a slight eyeroll.

It does nothing to deter Oliver's smile as he locks up the car, more than used to it.

Affection has never come easily to their seven-year-old, and as much as he would love to scoop her up into his arms and cuddle his little girl, he knows full well that it would make her tense and uneasy, completely contradicting the point.

She's incredible, his little Julie-bug, whip-smart and intensely creative, but half the time he wonders what's going on in her head. She so rarely offers anything up to him, and he knows the chances of her doing that more - especially as she gets older - are highly unlikely. Most of her thoughts are kept to herself, whatever they might be, and the only time she really expresses them is when it bothers her too much to keep it all caged in. Then it all boils over in a tempest of rage, a furious storm that damages everything in its wake.

The terrible twos had been hard with Jules, but they'd fast discovered that while her restraint might have grown as she'd left toddlerhood, her frustration and temper had not abated. Jules is _hard_. He and Felicity both love her more than life itself, would do anything at all for her, but the scant month of parenting experience they'd had with the first Ellie had in no way prepared them for their oldest.

If anything, it'd given them the _opposite_ impression.

Felicity interrupts his thoughts with a, "And you can see them," to Ellie where she's squatted in front of the little girl. "But you have to hold still and let me finish buttoning your coat, you silly girl."

The promise of imminently _seeing_ the animals has Ellie letting out a squeak. She covers her mouth with her hands, fighting to stand still. She's a ball of expressive joy, his three-year-old. As they close in on the age the _other_ Ellie had been when she was sent back in time to them, he finds himself equal parts terrified that his daughter will also somehow be ripped away from them and absolutely astounded at how similar the two versions of his Ellie really are.

They are both worlds apart from Jules, though. Sisters or not, Oliver would be hard pressed to come up with two people who are more different from each other. That thought's confirmed when he glances at his eldest and finds her waiting patiently, lips pressed together in a thin line as she stares at the entrance to the zoo.

"There!" Felicity announces with triumph, finishing the last of the black buttons on Ellie's gray coat. Ellie dances over to Jules in her excitement, who merely gives her sister a glib smile, before coming right back to her mother as Felicity leans back on her heels. She takes a deep breath, placing a hand on the ground… but that's as far as she gets. "Now, if only I could stand up…"

Oliver chuckles, shaking his head affectionately as he walks over and offers her a hand. She scrunches her nose at him, but she grips his forearm tightly and allows him to pull her up. It takes a bit of effort, more because she's off-kilter than because she's heavy, but that's true, too.

Unlike Jules, who she'd remained fairly small with, and Ellie, who she'd carried low, their son is front and center, making his presence known. He's definitely taking up more than his fair share of space, something Felicity informs both him and his father of every day. Her balance has been a mess since early in her second trimester and her back is perpetually stiff and sore, which is emphasized now as she puts her hands on the small of her back and stretches with a moan.

The move makes her stomach jut out even more, and Oliver can't resist laying a hand on her belly to greet his son with an affectionate brush of his thumb, pressing a kiss to her temple. She hums her appreciation, leaning into his lips. When he pulls back, she winks at him.

"Thank you," she says with a little sigh, reaching down for Ellie's hand.

"Of course," he replies. "You good?"

"I'm good." She nods, more for his benefit than anything, because she still has one hand plastered to her lower back. Felicity looks at Ellie before smiling at Jules, declaring, "Let's do this!"

"Yay!" Ellie shouts.

"Are you really sure you're up to it?" Oliver asks. He'd offered before and he'd received much the same glare he's getting now. He's not the least bit deterred, though, because he _knows_ how swollen her ankles get, and he can't help wanting to spare her that. "I can take the girls and just meet you in the coffee shop after, if you want."

"I can walk around the zoo with our daughters, Oliver," she counters.

"I'm not saying you can't," he replies immediately. "I'm just saying you don't have to."

"You can sit in the wagon if it's too much walking, Momma," Ellie offers.

The mental image of his very pregnant wife trying to fit in Ellie and Jules' little red wagon - of the two girls trying to pull it with her in it - flashes through Oliver's mind and he laughs out loud. It's ridiculous, and it'd be worth the pictures he would absolutely take.

"Thank you, Ellie-bug," Felicity says, "but I think I might break it if I tried that. It's a kid wagon, not a grown-up one."

"We should get a grown-up one, then!" Ellie declares. "They're fun!" She lets go of her mother's hand and scrambles over to the wagon, climbing in. "Come on, Jules!"

The hesitation that crawls across Jules' face as she eyes the wagon isn't surprising, but the fact that she makes no move to climb into it with her sister is. She's always liked riding in the wagon.

"I'm too big for it," Jules announces after a moment. But her eyes linger, like she's giving it up but doesn't really want to.

"Nuh uh. You'll fit!" Ellie promises, scooting back into one corner. "See? There's loads of room."

Jules stares at the empty spot across from her sister, making no move to join her. Ellie's little face twists in confusion, but in spite of the clear longing on the older girl's face, she doesn't budge. She finally looks away, shrugging one shoulder as she slips her hands into the pockets of her long, stark white winter coat.

"I'll walk," she says.

Next to him, Felicity lets out a pained sigh, gripping his elbow. It's a little thing - a silly thing, even - and it has no significance. Or it wouldn't on its own. But this is Jules, and she's an expert in self-sabotage and caged feelings, despite their best efforts to get her to open up.

It bothers Felicity. It bothers him, too.

"You sure?" Oliver asks, even though he already knows the answer. "I might ride in it if I could. The zoo's big."

Jules rolls her eyes. "Sure, Dad."

Dad.

Not 'Daddy.'

 _Dad_.

She's been doing that more and more lately, and it has a knot of sorrow sitting heavily in his chest.

Every day it feels like she's pulling away from him even further and all he wants to do is hold on, keep her close, tell her for the millionth time that he loves her. He wants to know that this time - _this time_ \- she believes him. Because he's honestly not sure that she does. It absolutely guts him because he'd do anything at all for this little girl, and she doesn't seem to have a clue.

"You can pull me, then!" Ellie exclaims, scrambling across the wagon and rising up on her knees so she's almost eye-level with Jules. "You wanna? You've got strong muscles. I bet you could do it."

Jules hesitates, but Oliver can see she wants to say yes. He fights the urge to encourage her, keeping his face neutral when she glances at him and Felicity before she looks at Ellie.

"Sure," Jules replies. It's as nonchalant as she can make it, but she stands straighter, pulling her shoulders back, her chin held high. Like she's trying to be older. Like she's trying to distance herself from the childhood she's barely just begun. But when she grabs the handle to the wagon, eliciting a squeal of delight from Ellie, a smile lights her face that shows just how young she still is.

"We ready?" Felicity asks the girls.

They both nod, Ellie with far more exuberance than even seems possible.

"Go _fast_ , Jules!" Ellie instructs, holding onto the sides of the wagon with white-knuckled little fingers. "Go like The Flash!"

Jules bolts as fast as she can with the wagon in tow, Ellie shrieking as they sprint down the sidewalk, wind ruffling her hair. They don't get far ahead - neither Oliver or Felicity would let them - but there's enough distance that Felicity feels comfortable sagging against him with a heavy sigh.

"I know," Oliver says, wrapping an arm around her and kissing the top of her head.

"I just…" Felicity sighs again before swallowing hard and he knows she's fighting back tears. It's not the first time she's cried over their daughter - rather, her frustrating inability to really get through to Jules - but pregnancy has her emotions amplified times a thousand. "I feel like nothing I do is right with her, sometimes."

"I know," he agrees, stroking her waist with his thumb. "But she's smiling now, isn't she?"

She is. It's thin, but it's a smile, even if it's a little haughty as she pauses in front of the member entrance to the zoo at the end of the sidewalk to talk down to her little sister. They aren't close enough to hear the words, but Oliver suspects Jules is telling Ellie what to do. The little girl does what she says, without question, thoroughly unbothered. Ellie's only three and Jules must seem so big to her; she accepts her older sister's authority without question.

For now.

Oliver can't imagine that will last a whole lot longer.

"I just want her to be happy," Felicity replies in a near whisper. "I want them both to be happy."

"Me, too," Oliver says. "But all we can do is listen to them. Tell them we love them. Encourage them. We have a lot on our plates, but they know they come first."

"Yeah," Felicity echoes, but uncertainty trails after the word. She rests one hand on her belly, staring at her daughters with a longing that time can't touch. He wishes he could take that worry away, but he can't do that any more than he can make Julianna be more open and interactive with them.

"Momma!" Ellie calls loudly as they close in on the girls. "I gotta get Nater-Tater-Bug a present while we're at the zoo. He needs more stuffed animals."

Oliver's heart clenches at those words and Felicity might well have tripped if not for his hand steadying her waist. The sudden reminder of the first Ellie hits Felicity hard, just like it always does whenever the little moments come up. It happened so long ago - _years_ ago - but sometimes, it's like that month happened just yesterday.

"What?" Felicity asks breathlessly.

"A present," Ellie repeats. "At the gift shop." She frowns in confusion. "Did I say something wrong, Momma?"

"No," Oliver says her quickly, shaking his head as he pulls Felicity closer. He smiles at her. "That's a sweet idea, Ellie-bug."

Ellie relaxes, but her eyes stay on Felicity, who leans into him, taking a moment to pull herself together. The similarities between the Ellies are somehow both heartening and heartbreaking.

"You reminded momma of the first Ellie," Jules explains to her sister. "Because she got me my elephant as a present before I was born."

"Oh," Ellie says slowly, her face falling. "I'm sorry, Momma. I didn't mean to make you sad."

"No, it's okay, baby," Felicity replies, her voice thick. She clears her throat, moving to support her own weight. Oliver keeps his arm around her regardless. "You just surprised me, that's all. You were almost the same age when…" She stops herself, pressing her lips together hard before taking a deep breath. "It's okay. I think that's a really good idea, when we're done looking at the animals."

Ellie studies her mother, finally nodding with a furrowed little brow. "It won't be an elephant, Momma. I promise. Not even if that's the best thing there."

"It can be an elephant," Felicity tells her, sounding more even-keeled by the moment.

"Really?" Ellie asks. "It can?"

"Ellie, you love elephants," Felicity tells her. "Of course it can."

"Oh _good_." Ellie sighs like that's a tremendous relief. "Nater-Tater-Bug will love it, Momma! It's gonna be the best present there. I just know it. You can't beat a stuffed elephant, Momma. It's the _best_."

"You're a sweet girl, Ellie-bug," Felicity tells her, walking over and bending down to kiss her on the forehead. Ellie preens under the attention, smiling proudly up at her mother. She's so very expressive, so full of joy and lightness that it's easy to be drawn in by her.

Oliver watches his older daughter instead.

Jules looks uneasy at the moment unfolding in front of her. Whether that's a quiet jealousy or discomfort at the kind of open display of affection she would never engage in, Oliver's not sure, but either way it leaves him itching to reach out to her.

"Can we see the elephants first, Momma?" Ellie asks in a fit of excitement. "They've got a _baby_ one. I heard at preschool. Only he's as big as a house!"

Felicity laughs, stroking the blonde curls from Ellie's brow, soaking in the absolute giddiness that rolls off of Ellie in waves. It's a quiet moment comprised of just the two of them and Oliver knows his wife misses it when Jules turns to stare at her toes, misses her shoulders drooping, as she says, "Sure, Ellie-bug. That seems as good a spot to start as any. I kinda wanted to start there, too."

What she really wants is an elephant ear from the food cart nearby and Oliver knows it. But it also means going the exact opposite direction from the marine life, and one look at Jules' closed off face tells him that she'd had her heart set there.

He knows his little girl, even if she does her best to hide herself from everyone.

"Why don't you two go ahead," he says, drawing a confused look from his wife. "I want to see the sea lions first."

Jules' gaze shoots up to him, eyes wide with surprise that softens into something hopeful as he smiles at her.

"Oh." Felicity looks between them, connecting the dots, and he can see the second she starts blaming herself. They had to start _somewhere_ and Ellie had asked so it felt natural to agree. It's not like Jules had spoken up. But Jules is so very good at pretending not to care about things, and sometimes it's easy to miss. But when she does care, though, she cares _deeply_ , and the more she cares, the more she keeps it to herself. "I think that's a great idea. Meet up at the petting zoo in half an hour?"

"Sure," Oliver agrees, but he barely spares his wife a glance as he hones his attention in on his older daughter. "What do you say, kiddo? Mind hanging out with me for a bit?"

Jules chews her lower lip warily, but her eyes brim with tentative hope, a flush spreading across her cheeks. It's partly from the cold, he knows; Jules has such fair skin. But it's also happiness she can't quite contain. Maybe even a hint of it is some she's letting out all on her own.

"Okay," she agrees shyly.

Oliver lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and smiles broadly at her.

"But you'll miss the elephants!" Ellie protests.

In the space of a second, Jules wilts before bracing herself, looking like she's ready to be overruled, but Felicity doesn't let it happen.

"That's okay, Ellie," Felicity tells her. "You and I will take pictures for them, okay?" As Ellie deflates slightly, clearly unable to comprehend how anyone would willingly choose to skip the elephants, Felicity leans over and kisses Oliver softly. Her hand lingers against his cheek as she backs up, mouthing, ' _Thank you'_ to him. She turns toward Jules next, running her fingers gently through the girl's straight, dark hair and smiling down at her. "Have fun with your dad, okay, baby? I love you."

"Yeah," Jules agrees, shifting uneasily and glancing up at her mom with those ice blue eyes of hers before mumbling, "I will."

She doesn't say, " _I love you, too_ " - she doesn't directly address her feelings at all, really - and Oliver knows that the absence of that hurts his wife so much. But it doesn't come easily to Jules. It's something he can relate to. The circumstances are vastly different, but Oliver knows the vulnerability that comes with opening yourself up, knows how much easier it is to be insulated with his feelings. It's one of the few things he wished he didn't share with his daughter, but at the same time, he's glad, because it's something he can at least _try_ to navigate.

Felicity cups the little girl's ruddy cheek for a moment, before backing away with a nod and turning to Ellie.

"Elephants?" she asks.

"Yes!" Ellie declares with glee, flopping back against the bottom of the wagon so that she's looking skyward.

"See you in a bit," Felicity tells him.

Oliver smiles at her and gets one in return before she swipes their family membership card. She walks through the turnstile into the zoo with a nod at the nearby attendant, pulling Ellie behind her. It's easier said than done, making it through that entryway, considering the wagon and Felicity's expanded waistline, but they manage.

They head off toward the African animals section on their own.

It's hard to tear his eyes from his pregnant wife and little girl, but giving all his attention where it needs to be is easy as breathing.

"You know what I just realized?" Oliver asks.

Jules' face immediately falls and it dawns on him with a pang that she thinks he's about to change his mind. He can see her putting herself back into her little self-created box labeled 'Secondary' or 'Unimportant' yet again.

"We need hot cocoa," he says, answering himself.

Jules pauses, staring at him. Her tone is guarded as she asks, "Hot cocoa?"

"With whipped cream," he confirms. "Lots of it. And sprinkles."

"Sprinkles?" she asks with a scoff. It's almost a laugh, and that would have been enough, but then she gives him a small upturn of her lips.

Oliver nods, not giving into the urge to smile just because she is of her own volition. "The best hot cocoa has sprinkles," he deadpans. "It's a well-guarded secret."

"Is that one of your deep life lessons?" she asks. "Did you learn that from Tatsu or Anatoly?"

She's so very glib about it and he knows exactly what she's trying to do. She opened up a tiny little crack in her facade, just enough for him to peer through and now she's trying to force a bit of distance back between them by making _him_ close off. But he's not the man he was before she was born and he's not about to allow that to happen now.

"Far more imposing figures than either one of them," he tells her, putting his hand on her back. He guides them toward a nearby food cart. "It was Raisa. But don't tell your grandmother."

" _Please_ ," Jules huffs. "Grandma Moira would probably top it off with chocolate sauce. And a cherry, too." She pauses as they get in line before acknowledging, "Unless we're staying the night. She only does that when you're coming to pick us up."

Of course she does.

"I'll have to remember to thank her for that," Oliver replies dryly. "But she most definitely did not do that when your Aunt Thea and I were kids."

"Well yeah," Jules says with a shrug. "Because then she had to deal with you all sugared up."

Oliver chuckles as they get to the front of the line. "True."

He doesn't miss the way she flushes with pleasure at that, and he doesn't push it when she ducks her head to hide it from him.

Oliver orders them two hot cocoas. They do not, as it turns out, have sprinkles, but they do have chocolate sauce, something Jules seems relatively pleased with as an alternative. And by 'relatively' he means 'extremely' because when he pretends to look away, the vendor winks before dousing hers in it.

"Although," Oliver says as he hands the cashier far too much money in exchange for the cocoas. He hands the one brimming with chocolate to her. "She also had Raisa for that."

Jules' brow furrows as she takes a sip of her sugar-laden drink. There's a thin layer of whipped cream on her lip. She licks it away the best she can as she asks, "What do you mean?"

"It's…" He sighs, his free hand returning to his daughter's back, resting between her shoulder blades as they turn toward the marine life exhibit. "My family growing up wasn't like our family," he explains. "It was more… rigid."

"Rigid?" she repeats. She's curious, more than he's seen her in a long time, and he can't really blame her. He hasn't talked much with her about his own childhood. "What does that mean?"

"There was a certain way things had to be done," Oliver clarifies, taking a sip of his oversweeteened drink. He grimaces - it's way too much for his tastebuds - and Jules catches it. She snickers as he winces at the flavor, prompting him to take another sip, just because he likes the sound of it. And maybe because he likes seeing that look on her face, even if it's at his expense. "My parents always loved me in their own way, but they also weren't very present in my life."

Her curiosity increases tenfold at that, to the point where she just holds her cocoa instead of drinking it.

"My dad was a busy guy," Oliver says. It's strange, talking about this with her. It'd taken him a long damn time to even talk to Felicity about any of this, and even though it's been years, he still feels the tug of vulnerability making him want to change subjects. But it's not as insistent with Jules. It's something they can share. It won't be enough to bring down all the walls she keeps up, but if he's lucky it might chip away at them a bit. "The company was always his top priority, above me and Aunt Thea, and even your grandma. And he made a lot of bad choices that complicated things more." That might be the biggest understatement ever. "It didn't leave a lot of time for me unless I was in trouble or representing the family with him at some kind of event."

"Did you get in trouble a lot?" she asks.

 _That's_ a question. She'll find out far more than he wants her to eventually, he has no doubt about that. His foibles are painfully well-documented across the internet, in various formats and medias. It's something his campaign manager has bemoaned every time they've met. But for now, she's seven and while he won't lie to her, he's not going to go into details either.

"More than my fair share," Oliver admits.

"And Grandma Moira?" she prods, looking up at him with those big blue eyes that can make him do just about anything. As much as he wants her to know how very much he loves her, it's probably a good thing she doesn't realize how wrapped around her finger he is.

"She's my mom," he answers simply. "But our relationship is better now than it was when I was growing up. She spent a lot of time cleaning up my dad's messes." They've slowed down a bit - Jules has, that is - and he's more than content to match his pace to hers if it means more talking. "Looking back, I think she was sad."

"Why?" Jules digs.

He's not about to tell his seven year old that her grandfather had been an unfaithful man who'd failed far more than just his family, so instead he says, "I think my dad was too busy for her, too, sometimes."

Jules hums at that, mulling it over in her head as she looks down at the cocoa in her hands and licks a bit of whipped cream off the top.

After a moment, she says, "Grown-ups are busy a lot."

Her melancholy tone hits him hard.

"We are," Oliver agrees, grabbing her elbow gently and forcing her to stop with him, meeting his eyes. "But I learned from my dad's mistakes in a lot of ways, Julie-bug. My family will always come first, do you understand? You, your mom, your sister, your brothers. You're the most important part of my life. That's why we're here."

Jules blinks in bewilderment. "At the zoo?"

The response is so perfectly guileless, and it makes his chest expand with love for her.

"At the marine exhibit, honey," he corrects her.

"Oh."

"Life isn't just the big moments, Jules," he says, brushing hair away from her cheek. She watches him, her eyes never leaving his as he speaks. "It's not all graduations and birthdays. It's taking my big girl to go see her favorite animal because I know she wants to, even if she didn't ask." It's the closest he's come to calling her out on being evasive with her feelings in a long while and she suddenly looks skittish and uneasy at the near-confrontation. But they've got a good exchange going and Oliver refuses to let it go. "You could have, you know."

She's quiet, for a long moment. The look of quiet fear in her eyes socks him right in the gut, but he doesn't let the topic drop. Not yet. He doesn't push her either, not as long as she doesn't shut him out.

She doesn't.

"What if…" Jules starts. She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together tightly. Her fingers shake against her cup of cocoa, the only sign of the vulnerability that's slicing through her. She stares down at the remaining whipped cream. "Ellie wanted to see the elephants. What if that was more important?"

What if _she_ is more important.

That's what she's saying - what if they value Ellie more than her.

That the thought has ever crossed her mind makes Oliver want to cry. He wants to interrupt her, to swear it isn't true - that it could _never_ be true - but she's not done yet, and she barrels forward in a sudden tumult of words long unspoken.

"And once there's Nate…" Jules looks up at him. "I mean, he'll want to go see something else, too, right? What if he wants to see the snakes and Ellie wants to see the elephants and I'm just…"

She cuts herself off again, but this time she doesn't continue. Her eyes well up with tears, but he barely sees them because she looks down again. She's in full protective mode, shoulders hunched defensively, body tensed as she stares at the ground.

"Just what, baby?" Oliver asks, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears, letting his thumbs rest against the bottom edge of her jaw. He won't force her to look up, though. This is already so far outside her comfort zone, he can't press for more.

"What if I'm left behind?"

It's barely a whisper and as much as it kills him that she thinks that, he's so very glad that she actually _said_ it.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes. He takes her cup and sets both of the cocoas on a nearby ledge before pulling her into his arms. "Never. Never, ever, _ever_."

Jules isn't Ellie, though, and she doesn't melt into his embrace. It's not her way and he's never quite figured out how to get through to her. But he is damned well going to try everything he can think of right now, because this is one thought he can't possibly let fester in her head.

She shakes a little, her whole body impossibly tense in his arms. She doesn't pull away, though, and he chooses to take that as a good sign. But she also doesn't break, doesn't cry, doesn't have a tumble of words that spill out voicing all her worries.

Still, this is about as open as he can remember her being.

"You're so incredibly important to this family, Jules," he promises. "To _me_." One of his hands cups the back of her head, holding her against his chest. He feels the quick inhale of air as she sniffles, trying to hold everything in. "I love you, kiddo. Your brother isn't going to change that, and neither does your sister."

"But…" she starts, cutting herself off immediately and shaking her head a little. The hug isn't enough. Oliver backs up slightly, taking her with him, sitting on the same ledge he'd put the cocoas on. It puts him about eye-level with her, but she won't keep his gaze.

He keeps trying, though. He'll always keep trying.

"Talk to me, Julie-bug," he says.

It feels like begging.

Something in his tone must get through to her, though, because she does look at him. She's so guarded, so cautious. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but her cheeks are dry as she wraps her arms around her middle. It's protective, meant to distance herself from him, from the reality of everything she's feeling. He keeps his hands on her elbows, holds on tight to any physical connection between them, even as she insists on severing the emotional one.

"But… you wanted them," she mutters after a moment.

It's barely a whisper, but he hears it as loud as a scream. It rings in his ears and he wishes it were possible to physically fight words. That would be easier. If he could put a whole quiver full of arrows into that notion and kill it, he would. _Immediately_.

But this is so much more complicated than that.

"I wanted you, too," he tells her. "Jules-"

"It's different," she says abruptly, cutting him off.

"That doesn't make it _less_ , though," he replies. That gains her full attention. Her pale blue eyes search his, like she's looking for the truth behind his words. "Knowing your sister before she was even born meant we knew what we were looking forward to with her. With you, it was all the excitement of the unknown. But, honey, I swear to you that we wanted you every bit as much as we wanted your sister or brother. And I am so grateful every single day for you.

"The other Ellie, the one from before?" he adds. "You know she didn't have an older sister, but what you don't know is that I feel sorry for that Oliver. Because he missed out on an amazing little girl as his daughter. He missed out on _you_."

She hears him, but she's still all wariness. Jules watches him, her arms not loosening in the least where they're wrapped tight around herself.

More than anything else in the world in this instant - more than _anything_ \- he wants to make her believe him.

"When I found out your mom was pregnant with you," he says softly, "I cried." She shifts uneasily in front of him. Other people's emotions aren't any easier for her to deal with than her own. "I was grateful and excited and terrified. Your mom, she was… she was unconscious. She was hurt so badly, and we didn't know if either of you would be okay. But, Jules, from the instant I knew you existed, I wanted you in my life _so much_. So much that it surprised me. You being my little girl has gotten me through some of the most difficult moments of my life since the island."

"Because the other Ellie left," Jules deduces. She's right, of course, at least in part, but she's taking it the wrong way and he can see that in an instant.

"Because you gave me hope," he corrects her. "Because you gave a kickstart to the family I wanted with your mom. I loved that Ellie, too. And, yes, I missed her a lot and it was hard to move past losing her. But none of that means I ever wanted you any less."

He's not getting through to her. Nothing's softened in her face, there's no understanding in her eyes. So, he tries another route.

"What about William?" Oliver asks.

"What about him?"

"Do you think I love him any less because I didn't know about him ahead of time?" Oliver tilts his head in question. "I didn't even know he existed until he was almost your age. Do you think I want him any less because of that?"

Jules shrugs one shoulder in reply, looking at the ground.

His heart shatters at the sight, because _she does_ , he realizes. She does think that. God, how does he even start to fix this?

"I _don't_ , Jules," he tells her forcefully. "This family would be incomplete without either of you and _no one_ gets left behind."

She just looks at him, weighing his words, but she doesn't react.

"Tell me you hear me, Julie-bug?" he begs.

"I hear you," she says after a minute.

Whether she believes him or not is another matter entirely, but he's pretty sure that she knows _he_ believes what he's saying and it's a step in the right direction. He can't fix this all at once. It's too deeply ingrained in his little girl and he sees that now. But at least she'd voiced her worry, at least she'd _said_ something. It gives them a starting point. And that's what this is - the first step in a long road.

"Okay," he finally says. He sighs, letting her go with a nod. "Okay."

He's not sure what else to say.

This is the most emotionally exhausting day he's had in a long, long time.

"Can I have my cocoa back now?" Jules asks.

"Sure," he agrees, handing it to her. "It might be cold, though."

She shrugs. "I like plain old chocolate milk, too." She takes as sip. "Do you still want to see the sea lions?"

 _Absolutely_.

That feels more vital now than ever. Words are good, but they aren't enough, especially not with Jules. She needs moments like this, time spent one-on-one where she's the focus.

"Let's do it," he says, standing back up.

Her lips quirk in a smile, but that's as far as it gets as they start walking back to the exhibit.

After a moment, she slips her hand into his.

Oliver looks down at her little fingers in wonder. She holds on tightly, like she doesn't want to let go, like she's afraid he might. But he wouldn't. Not for anything. He strokes the back of her knuckles softly, keeping his grip steady but loose, and slowly the tension in her hand starts to melt away. When he looks at her, she has her head tilted away. She might be reaching out, on this rare occasion, but even this little gesture is a lot for her and she can't physically face it.

That's okay. They have time.

The zoo isn't busy, likely because of the chilly weather, and when they get there, the marine life exhibit is nearly empty. Jules doesn't care an ounce. She barely pays any attention to the few kids running in a noisy circle nearby or the chattering adults off to the side. She only has eyes for the underwater world before her. She lets go of his hand and walks straight up to the glass wall that gives a sneak peek into the lives of the zoo's sea lions.

Oliver's right behind her, his eyes on her with just as much wonder. She leans down long enough to set her cocoa down before she's standing up again, breathing out an astonished, " _Oh_ ," as one of the giant, graceful beasts swims by. She presses both hands flat against the glass, utterly taken by them, watching as two others case each other around a large rock.

The beautiful look of amazement on her face is _everything_. She's strikingly pretty - some of the kids in her class had taken to calling her Snow White, much to her annoyance - but it's so often masked by her sullen, distant attitude. Not today, though. Not right now. Right now, she's about the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen.

"Do you see?" she asks, looking up at him with unmitigated excitement. "It's like they're dancing, Daddy."

Oliver bites his tongue to keep his emotions at bay when he hears 'Daddy.'

"They are," he agrees as she looks back at the water, nearly pressing her nose against the glass.

"When they're on land, they don't do a whole lot," she tells him. "They don't seem like much up there. But underneath, in the water… It's like they come alive."

"They're pretty incredible," Oliver says, soaking in her amazement for a moment more before finally looking toward the glass barrier. "There are two more up near the top. One of them looks like it might be a baby. Can you see them from down there?"

Her eyes dart around the enclosure and she gets up on her tiptoes, but she can't spy the animals he's talking about. She's not tall enough.

"Come here," he suggests, holding out his arms.

She barely even hesitates before walking over to him and allowing him to pick her up. Oliver settles her on his hip and points toward two sea lions near the surface off to the side.

"Oh!" she cries out in delight, following his line of sight. "Look how little it is, Daddy!"

Jules smiles broadly, pressing the fingertips of one hand against the glass again, like she's trying to pass right through and join them. But her other arm stays wrapped securely around her father. Her hold against his shoulder is solid.

"It is," Oliver whispers, taking in the scarce sight of joy on his daughter's fast-sharpening features. She's all but lost her baby fat at this point and it's so easy to see hints of the woman she's growing into far too quickly.

"It's little," he says, "but it's getting bigger every day."


	5. October 2024

Oliver hisses through his teeth as he pulls the Henley over his head, the stretch testing the quality of Lyla's stitches from last night. Still, even though they definitely sting enough to make him not want to move _at all_ , he tries to contain it, to dial it back. But it's too late. She heard it, and even if she hadn't, Jules' dog sitting in the doorway letting out a whimper of protest would have alerted her.

"Maybe you should stay home."

"No," he counters with a shake of his head and a slightly forced smile. "I'm fine." He hopes he's not as pale as he feels, but judging by the blood rushing from his face and the swell of nausea rising up, he's pretty sure that's a futile dream. One look at Felicity as he tugs the shirt down confirms it. "I swear. I've had worse."

"Oh, I know that," she replies. "But that doesn't mean you should push yourself. You did get _stabbed_ yesterday, you know."

"Yeah," he says with a grimace. "I was there, remember?"

The words are sharper than he means them to be - _obviously_ he'd been there; it was _his_ gut that'd gotten embedded with three inches of steel - but she had been, too, over the comms. He knows how helpless it feels to listen to something you have no control over, to wait and hope that the worst possible thing that can happen is in fact not happening. There have been a few nights with too many close calls, and that's when the strong façade Felicity maintains as Overwatch cracks slightly.

Last night was one of those nights.

Oliver sighs. Pain makes him irritable as hell, but that's no reason to take it out on his wife.

Before she can get a word in, he says, "I'm sorry. I'll take it easy. I promise. And if it gets worse I'll just come back home, okay?" He tugs the Henley into place with a wince. "But this is important. I want to be there."

Felicity sighs, clearly not thrilled, but she does relent. "Okay," she says, giving him a smile. It reaches her eyes - she's not mad - but it does nothing to alleviate the concerned lines etched across her face.

"Felicity." Oliver takes a few steps to plant himself directly in front of her. He smooths his hands down her arms. "I promise you that I will take care of myself, okay? Try not to worry so much."

She snorts. "Ha, like that's _ever_ gonna happen. I'm know I don't have to remind you that this is-"

Oliver cuts her off with a kiss.

It's soft and gentle, and some of the tension in her muscles melts away. She leans in, kissing him back with a content sigh, her hands resting gently against his chest. It's tender… and a little too soft for his liking. He knows it's all residual fear from the night before, and he knows she was about to remind him that he'd gotten stabbed in the shoulder a few months ago, too. It takes days for her to relax with him going out, just like it does every other time they've had a terrifying near-miss.

They've been lucky over the years. _So_ lucky. But it hasn't been without moments of sheer terror along the way. There's no avoiding that, though. Not in their line of work.

So while there are moments where the fear takes over everything, there's also...

 _This._

Oliver grips her waist, sliding his hands down to her hips. Felicity smiles, humming against his lips as she shakes her head at him, which in turn makes him smile before kissing her again.

"See?" he whispers, kissing her. "I'm…" Kiss. "Just." Kiss. "Fine." She snorts louder this time, and he chuckles, angling his head to drag his lips down her jawline. He kisses his way down her throat, delighting in her whimpers. Oliver tugs her more firmly against him as he presses his hips against her, moving his mouth to hover over her ear. "And I have every intention of proving to you just how fine I really am later."

Felicity doesn't miss a beat. "You are out of your _mind_ if you think that's a possibility after last night," she replies.

Oliver frowns. No, really, it's more of a pout. They've been together for just over a decade and he can count on one hand how many times he hasn't been able to distract her with the idea of sex when he puts his mind to it.

Although, a stabbing could be an exception.

Or _not_.

He kisses the shell of her ear, pulling her earlobe between his lips. Her breath hitches, but she doesn't give in. Disappointment runs rampant, but if there's one thing he knows he is, it's determined.

"Maybe…" Oliver starts, pressing his hips into hers again, "if I get creative about it."

She doesn't answer right away, and when she squirms a little, he grins. Something coils deep in his gut at her ever-present need for him; it matches his, it always has. God, he loves this woman.

Oliver presses his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder, dropping kisses there. "I can be very, _very_ inventive, you know…" His hands slip around her, down over her backside. He squeezes, just enough to nearly lift her off her feet, relishing her sharp intake of breath. He doesn't lift her - because of the gaping wound in his side - but it is funny that he suddenly doesn't feel the stitches right now. His smile grows as she grips the collar of his shirt, giving him a shudder.

"Oliver," she says, his name coming out in a breathy whine. "This is not the time for this on _so_ many levels."

She's very right about that, but her body is saying something else entirely. And fuck everything, so is his, something they both feel growing between them.

He cares about the other things, he _does_. But then there's his wife in his arms.

Felicity rocks into him, pressing her hips against his with a new intent that makes him hiss. She slides her hands up his neck, her fingers trailing across his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake as she urges him to stand back, to give _her_ room now.

"We have things to do," she continues.

Her lips ghost over his jawline, making his eyes flutter shut. He cranes his head back, giving her more room to explore, which she does. Her lips are so _soft_ as she kisses him, her tongue darting out to taste his skin. She leaves wet spots as she works her way down, all the way to the edge of his collarbone where it peeks out from his shirt. Her teeth scrape against his skin, and it's his turn to shudder. Oliver groans as pleasure swamps him, his hands gripping her tighter, kneading her ass, making her gasp. He dips his head down, wincing but not enough to stop. He seeks her lips, needing to taste her as he pulls her closer, ready to lift her up off her feet.

Their lips find each other again. This kiss is far more passionate, more searing. It amplifies the need to grind against her, to seek that delicious friction…

Oliver completely forgets about his barely-healing wound right up until his abdominal muscles _clench_ as he tries to lift her closer.

Pain rockets through him, overwhelming everything else.

There's no mistaking his cry of pain for one of passion.

Felicity jerks away, her brow twisting in concern, not that he registers it. He's blinded by the agonizing sensation that leaves him feeling like he's being rent in two. She doesn't let him go and later he'll realize it's because he practically falls right over.

"I'm fine," Oliver chokes out, just for her. It's bullshit and they both know it. Again, it's only later he'll remember he was holding onto her shoulder with a death grip, the only way to stop from keeling over. "I'm…" The pain lingers in an alarming way, cutting him off. Oliver groans again; he can't catch his damn breath.

"Sit down," Felicity orders, gesturing toward the bed.

When he does, it jolts him more, and another sharp cry sneaks past his lips against his will.

"I swear to god, Oliver, if you're fatally injured by making out with me I'm absolutely making sure the press knows it," Felicity vows, kneeling down in front of him. She pulls the edge of his shirt up as she continues talking. "Do you really want that to be your legacy? Representative Queen killed in freak sex accident? Because, let me tell you, buster, that's how it's gonna go if you keel over on me right now."

From the open doorway, the dog whines and cocks its head.

"Not _you_ , Buster." Felicity sighs, barely sparing the mutt a look before tilting her head back toward Oliver. " _This_ buster. That dog has a very unfortunate name."

"You named him," Oliver reminds her. The words come out without the room dissolving into a blurry mess, so that's good. And he doesn't feel like throwing up either. Progress.

"Not _intentionally_ ," she argues as she inspects his stitches. Her fingers are gentle, but he still has to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. Gut wounds are amongst the worse ones anyone could get, and this one had been bad. _Terrifyingly_ bad. He's grateful that Lyla had been at his side with her wealth of field medicine experience on that mission, because he's honestly not sure how he'd have gotten back to the lair without her.

He's not sure _if_ he'd have gotten back to the lair without her.

And that might explain a bit more why he'd been so insistent a moment ago. How many missions have ended with the question of ' _what if'_ hanging over their heads? A lot, and they always led to a night with both of them needing to remind themselves of how lucky they are to be alive.

He could have waited a little bit longer this time, he supposes.

"It's not bleeding and none of the stitches popped out," Felicity says, looking back up at him as she lets his shirt drop down. "I think you just tensed up too much when you shouldn't have."

"I… might have gotten a bit overzealous," he admits begrudgingly. "It's fine. I'm fine now."

Fine by _his_ standards anyhow, and bad luck for him, Felicity knows exactly how low those standards are.

"You should stay here," Felicity tells him. "Sit this one out."

He shakes his head sharply. "No."

"Oliver-"

" _No_ ," he says more firmly. "I'm not letting you guys go without me." She sighs, tilting her head back to roll her eyes at the ceiling. "They're so excited, Felicity," Oliver points out. "Even Jules. I'm not gonna miss out on that just because some thug with a knife got in a good shot."

It could have been a helluva lot more that he was missing out on because of that thug, and they both know it. But that's too big and too terrifying to think about - to even _contemplate_ \- so they both let it go, because it isn't reality. It didn't happen.

This is big enough to deal with right now. They don't need more.

"It's just trick-or-treating," Felicity tries again, but she doesn't believe that any more than he does.

"It's my kids' childhoods," Oliver replies. She shakes her head, but she can't hide the way her face softens. "I'm not missing their happy little faces for anything in the world, Felicity. Not tonight. Not ever."

She opens her mouth to argue, but she stops herself, pursing her lips. She'd love to argue his point and he knows it, but she's also very aware of just how stubborn he can be when it matters. And _this_ matters. He missed so much with William. He's not about to make the same mistake with his girls and Nate.

Felicity makes a little noise. "God, you are so _frustrating_ sometimes."

He barely stops himself from smiling - it's mostly because he's won her over, but also because yeah, he can be. Just like her. He wisely keeps that to himself.

"Fine," she concedes, but not before pointing her finger at him. "But the second you feel worse or too worn down, you're coming back here with Lyla while Digg and I finish up with the kids. Deal?"

Oliver grins. "Deal."

A tiny jingling is heard right before the dog barks. Buster spins, bolting down the stairs, his tail wagging a mile a minute as he disappears from sight. A moment later, a little voice drifts up from downstairs.

" _Mom! Doorbell_!"

"Is it your aunt and uncle?" Felicity shouts back.

The brownstone had been a brilliant idea when they bought it. It still is, really - it's perfect for their needs and it easily accommodates their entire family. But both he and Felicity had failed to realize precisely how much shouting kids do instead of actually walking up and down the stairs.

" _Yeah!_ " the voice calls back.

Felicity shakes her head. "Then how about you let them in, Jules!"

Oliver brushes his hand over her shoulder. "Why don't you go greet them, honey," he says. "I'll be right down."

Her eyes dart to the stairwell where noise drifts up from several floors below and then back to Oliver. " _Slowly_ ," she says with raised eyebrows. "You'll be down slowly. And carefully. That's _a lot_ of stairs."

It is a lot of stairs, more than he has any business taking on right now. She's taking his injury seriously, because it is, more than he'd openly admit right at this second. The amount of blood he'd left on the dirty warehouse floor had been alarming. He and Lyla had been soaked in it by the time they got back to the bunker, which hadn't been the ending he'd wanted Felicity to see after listening to Digg stave off two assailants while Lyla fought to keep him from losing consciousness. It had been close. It had been _too_ close.

"You've got it," he promises. And he means it.

Felicity smiles her gratitude, her shoulders falling with relief. She nods, pausing long enough to give him a soft kiss before she turns and hurries down the stairs, leaving just him and the unnecessary hole in his body.

Oliver presses his hand over the spot, groaning. And then he tries to stand. It goes the exact opposite of well. It's not difficult to do much of anything when he's standing, but straining his core muscles to get there? Not an option.

He curses under his breath. Felicity's absolutely right - he should not be doing anything other than lying in bed tonight. But his baby boy's two - it's the first Halloween that means anything to him - and Ellie's been chattering about her costume for weeks. Even Jules has been looking forward to it, getting all the right pieces for her costume. She'd even mapped out the most optimal route for maximum candy score. And she'd actually let him help. He grins, remembering how they'd sat down with a map, planning it out like an Arrow mission. It's one of his favorite recent memories with his older daughter and he'll forever cherish the mental image of her chewing on a red pen as she mulls over whether hitting up the Johnson's house for full sized Airheads beats out the Delgado's seemingly never-ending supply of Reese's Pieces.

Sometimes she's so much like her mother that it sends a sudden, powerful surge of love straight through him.

They don't see it - he knows that - but _he_ does. He sees it every day in little things and big ones. In their shared fierceness and independence, in their stubbornness and their intelligence. It's put his wife and daughter at odds more than once, something he can see getting a whole lot worse before it gets better. Jules is only a few years away from being a teenager - _god_ , when had that happened? - and he knows she'll butt heads with both him and Felicity even more regularly as they get through those years.

But for now… for now he gets moments where he plans out the most effective route for maximum quality candy haul on Halloween with his daughter. For now, it's hard-won and _perfect_. And it's all the more reason why he's absolutely, one hundred percent _not_ missing tonight.

Except he's still not sure he can get up on his own.

Oliver looks around their room, searching for anything solid in arm's reach. There's nothing. Why didn't they have a four-poster bed? It'd be so handy right now. And not just for that, but for other things. The pleasant imagery filling his head dissipates when the reality of the fact that he's still sitting hits him. There's nothing within reach he can use. Oliver huffs in frustration. Felicity will absolutely use this as an excuse for him to stay home tonight. He curses again.

"Well, _you've_ looked better."

His head whips toward the door to find his sister standing in the threshold, relief that someone is here and that that someone isn't Felicity crashing through him.

"I've _been_ better," Oliver admits. "Mind giving me a hand before my wife insists I stay here?"

Thea raises an eyebrow, not moving for a second. She doesn't think it's the best idea - it's written all over her face - but she also knows her brother. Rather, she probably reads his desperation pretty well, because he's staring at her with what he imagines are pretty helpless eyes. With a sighed, "Alright," she does as he requests, heading over and offering him her shoulder for support as he stands up.

Oliver instantly feels better the moment he's upright. He takes a slow, cleansing breath.

"Thank you," he says, squeezing her shoulder.

"You're welcome, but I'm keeping my eye on you," she tells him. It sounds like a warning because it is. "First sign that you should've stayed there and I'm ratting you out."

"Traitor," he retorts, but the affectionate smile on his lips takes away any of the sting. She gives him a wry smile, and then they're quiet. It's the same every time they see each other - neither of them ever really want to broach the heavy subject that always lingers in the air. He's the first to break this time. "How've you been, Thea?"

"Just peachy," she replies. It's all deflection, but he doesn't take the bait, keeping his eyes fixed on her patiently. After a moment, she sighs. It's a bone-deep weary noise that he's far too used to from her these days. "We're not exactly back at square one," she admits. "But it feels that way."

"I'm sorry," he tells her. "I know you'd hoped it would be a long term fix."

"Don't make it just about me, Ollie," she counters. "I know you had your hopes up, too."

Oliver tries to smile, but this one doesn't really form. Instead, he pulls her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He kisses the crown of his sister's head, sighing into her hair. "We all did," he murmurs against her. "But it's okay. You're okay."

"I'm… managing," Thea says, backing up a step.

She's been increasingly realistic these last few years, his little sister. The carefree, rebellious girl she'd once been has given way to an even-keeled pragmatic woman. Part of Oliver wonders what she would have been like if not for Isabel, what she'd been like in that _other_ universe. Not that it matters, though, because this is the Thea here and now.

"You're more than managing, Thea," he replies. His voice carries all the gravity he feels, because she _is_ doing more than managing. She's doing so much better than she had that first year. She's out and about, interactive with the world in a way she couldn't have been back then.

The smile she gives him is clearly for his benefit. She doesn't feel it a bit.

"Roy helps," she says instead of agreeing or disagreeing. "And it's not like Caitlin or Cisco are giving up. But, for now I'm back on the old drug cocktail." She raises her fist up like she's waving a pom-pom. "Yay."

"The _first_ cocktail?" Oliver asks. His mind whips back to those days, to when they'd had to learn the hard way just what that entailed. "Thea, we both know that long term-"

"It's not long term, Ollie," she interrupts. "They need new baseline readings to go off of." Thea rubs at her eye, sighing again. It's even more exhausted than the last one. "And I know, okay? I know better than anyone. It's bad for my liver and it thins out my blood and it absolutely _kills_ my appetite and leaves me exhausted, but…"

She cuts herself off as he whispers, "Thea," with a shake of his head. He really doesn't need a recap of why all of this is necessary.

"But we know I'm not gonna go off the rails and randomly start stabbing people with superhuman strength," she concludes, finishing in spite of his interruption. "I can see you and Felicity and the kids. I can spend time with my husband without being absolutely terrified that I'm going to snap and wake up with his blood all over my hands. I get what these drugs do to me, Ollie. And I am more than happy to try new treatments when they find something promising. But for now this is what's best for me, even if 'best' isn't as good as we'd like."

There's a fist clenched around his heart, crushing it with a force that leaves him breathless. He never wanted this for his sister and just like always, hearing the reality of it so starkly, having it laid out in front of him what she goes through every day, what her _life_ is like… It's overwhelming. And that's just to _him_. He can't imagine what it's like actually _living_ like that.

"I'm so sorry, Thea," Oliver says, resting his hand on her shoulder. "If there's anything else we can do-"

"There's not," she says. "You know there's not. It's not about money or effort or skill. The technology just isn't there yet. But they're working on it. They'll get there." She stares up at him, and for a split second he sees the very real fear she lives with every single day. God, if he could take away even an ounce of it, he would. Thea covers his hand where it still rests on her shoulder, squeezing his fingers. "I have to believe that, Ollie."

"Okay," he agrees, his voice uneven. "Okay, but if that changes, or if there's anything…"

"You'll be the first to know," she assures him. But then she tenses. Thea bites her lip together, looking vividly like she doesn't want to talk about this anymore, but she has to. There's more she wants to say, so he waits. And, after a moment, she looks up at him uneasily and asks, "Do me a favor and don't bring up the treatment to Roy, okay?"

Oliver's brow furrows, seeing how vital this is to her. "Okay."

"It's just…" She shakes her head. "He really got his hopes up, you know?"

"I think we all did," Oliver replies softly.

Thea's smile is small and sad. "He was talking kids, Ollie," she confides in a quiet voice, blinking back tears. "He thought maybe if this really worked... "

Oliver's heart sinks as he watches the pain of hopes unfulfilled play across his little sister's face. It hits him even harder because he and Felicity had talked about it, for them. His own sadness and regret about Thea's future, their own hopes and wishes that they'd get to experience having a family.

He doesn't have any words. He's pretty sure there aren't any that would help anyhow.

"It doesn't matter anyhow," Thea says, shaking her head a little and blowing a steadying breath through her lips. "Not meant to be, I guess. It's okay."

It's not, but he doesn't need to tell her that. So instead he pulls her into a hug. It's tighter than it should be and he instantly feels it in his injured side, but he doesn't stop because she is so, _so_ much more important than a stab wound.

"Thanks, Ollie." Thea wipes at her nose with the back of her hand as she pulls away. She smiles at him. "Now… I need to go play the part of the world's best aunt because I brought sparkly face powder that a certain five-and-a-half year old simply _has_ to have to complete her butterfly costume."

The change in topic is forced, but there's nothing he can say to help and it's clear she wants to move on. So they do.

"Butterflies sparkle?" Oliver asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

"They do when they're a Queen, oh brother of mine," she tells him loftily.

For an instant, she looks like the girl he remembers before all of this started, like the teenager whose greatest concern had been which designer to wear to a party. She's a long ways from that these days, but he knows his kids bring out that side of her. Especially Ellie.

As if on cue, the thunder of tiny footsteps resound up the stairs with an accompanying, "Auntie Thea!" and then Ellie barrels into the room, straight into her aunt's legs with tremendous glee. The transformation is instantaneous as his daughter's happiness spreads to his sister.

"Just _look_ at my Ellie-bug!" Thea says, leaning down and hoisting the girl up into her arms.

"I'm not a bug," Ellie protests, "I'm a butterfly!" She stretches out her wing-clad arms. "See?"

"Butterflies _are_ bugs, Ellie," Oliver reminds her.

Her little nose scrunches up at that. She knows better, but she can be so stubborn sometimes, so sure of herself. "They're only halfway bugs," she argues. "Only 'til they cocoon and then they wake up all beautiful. Just like I do when I'm in a cocoon!"

Between Ellie and Nate - who clings to his mother so much that they'd never needed to worry about babyproofing the lair because he _never_ willingly leaves her side - it feels like he and Felicity haven't had their bed to themselves in years. But he also remembers very clearly what it'd been like after the first Ellie left, in those first few cold days alone, and he can't bring himself to object. Sooner or later it will be just him and Felicity again, and he'll welcome that, too. But, for now, he's more than happy to fall asleep with two of his kids wrapped up between himself and his wife.

"Well, let's get to work making you the most beautiful halfway bug there ever was, shall we?" Thea proposes, bopping Ellie on the nose, much to the little girl's delight.

Ellie giggles, proudly declaring, "Uncle Roy said I already was."

"Where is your uncle?" Oliver asks.

"He's making Jules grosser," Ellie informs him. "They're in the kitchen. He needed ham."

" _Ham_?" Oliver repeats, wondering exactly what his brother-in-law is doing to his daughter's costume.

"Uh huh," Ellie confirms. "He said he needed to make it look like some of her face was falling off. She wasn't gross enough."

"Fantastic," Oliver deadpans.

He hadn't been thrilled about his not-quite-ten-year-old going trick-or-treating as a zombie in the first place - her newfound love of zombies bothers him immensely - but she'd found William's Walking Dead comics in his room and had been utterly fascinated on sight. There'd been no fighting it, then. Oliver _had_ had a talk with his oldest child about where he leaves his comics lying around because Jules finding them was bad enough. They don't need Nate finding them and spiraling into nightmares. Mostly that's because he wants to protect his two-year-old son, but it's a little self-serving, too. His son is a kicker. Oliver doesn't savor the idea of waking to Nate's foot connecting with places he'd really rather not get kicked as the toddler he runs away from imaginary zombies.

"Why don't you go check on the mortician's work while I pretty up this little bug," Thea suggests, tickling Ellie's side, eliciting a wild bunch of squeals.

Oliver just shakes his head at the two of them, smile firmly fixed in place as he soaks in the moment. Thea might not be cured, might not be as much improved as they would all like, but she can still have moments like this, and he's so grateful for that. He's grateful he gets to witness it.

"Thanks, Thea," he tells her.

"Of course," she replies without even looking his direction. She's too fixated on Ellie.

He leaves the room without further acknowledgment from either of them.

True to his word to his wife, Oliver takes the stairs gingerly. Making his way from the fourth story to the first takes a lot longer than usual, but his midsection doesn't ache from overexertion when he hits the bottom landing so overall, it had been a good idea.

"Like this?"

 _Roy_.

Oliver peeks through the archway to the kitchen to find one of the weirdest sights he's seen in years.

"No, it needs more blood," his eldest daughter replies. Her dog sits at her feet, desperately hopeful for a stray slice of ham to fall. Or, maybe he just wants Jules' attention. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. "Like lots more. I got attacked by a horde, right? We aren't talking just one lone little walker. A zombie _horde_ , Uncle Roy."

"Should I be worried?" Roy asks, his voice dry, but there's way more amusement there than he's letting on.

"Probably," Jules advises him with a lofty sigh. "I mean, you can fight and all, but we're talking a _horde_ , Uncle Roy. You escape or you die. You can't beat them. It doesn't work that way. You could probably beat one walker, but not a horde."

"Glad to hear you have some faith in me, anyhow," he replies as he smears something disgusting across the nine-year-old's face.

"I have loads of faith," Jules says, tilting her head upward and trying not to move her jaw as she talks. He's painting some kind of a gash across her cheek. Bits of ham dangle from the side of her face, coated in fake blood. "After all, _you're_ not a zombie, so you definitely did a better job defending yourself than I did, right?"

Roy sits back, inspecting his work as he asks, "And you're not gonna bite me?"

She shrugs. "I'm not hungry."

He picks up a cloth, wiping his fingers, indicating he's done as he says, "I don't think that's how it works with zombies, Jules."

"Well it does for me," she replies before looking past him. "Hey, Dad. How do I look?"

"Disgusting," Oliver informs her.

" _Awesome_!" she proclaims with pure delight. "Thanks, Uncle Roy!"

She quickly kisses him on the cheek, leaving a bloody smear in her wake before she hops off the kitchen barstool and bolts off to the front hall mirror to look over the finished product. Buster's hot on her heels, his tail wagging happily the whole way.

"You've got, uh…" Oliver tells Roy, rubbing at his own cheek. Roy picks up a nearby napkin, quickly wiping away the worst of the fake blood.

"Better?" Roy asks.

"You're good," Oliver assures him, sinking his hands into his pockets. "Thanks for doing that for her."

"No problem." Roy shrugs. "She's a good kid."

That's mostly true, but it's also that she and Roy just click. It's a lot like her and William, really.

Oliver wishes his oldest was here for Halloween, but William's at his mom's this weekend and no amount of bartering with Samantha had gotten him a holiday with all of his kids. He's disappointed, but he's sure Jules is even more so, even if she doesn't say it. Despite the age difference between them, they're thick as thieves, not that their ages have ever seemed to matter much to them. William relishes the role of older brother. And with Jules, her loyalty is hard won, but once it's earned, it's in place forever.

"You're good with her," Oliver says.

Roy simply shrugs. Jules would have given Oliver the same response, he's sure.

A squeal rings through the house, telling Oliver his son is up from his nap, followed by several thumps and a solid shout from Felicity's office. If that hadn't earned Oliver's attention enough, his wife's voice a second later absolutely would have.

"Nathaniel! You get your little butt back here, mister!"

Elated laughter and the patter of bare feet across the wood floor follow and then a very naked two-year-old barrels into the kitchen. He scrambles to a halt right in the middle of the kitchen.

"Shirt and shoes required, little dude," Roy tells him. "Pants, too, I'm guessing."

Felicity practically falls over her feet running into the room after her toddler. Nate's playing with her, utterly delighting in being chased by his mother and completely uncaring that he's stark ass nude in the middle of the kitchen.

"Hi!" Nate greets Roy with a blinding grin.

Oliver instinctively moves to swoop him up, but the second he leans over even a fraction, his wound makes itself known. He hisses through clenched teeth, which has Felicity turning to him with a sharp, "No moving," before she dodges after Nate again. The toddler evades her.

"Hey," Roy says as Oliver puts his head in his hands and pinches the space between his eyes. "You run so fast you ran out of your pants? It's like you're The Flash or something."

"No, silly!" Nate replies with a laugh, dodging his mother's grip like the wily little boy he is. "I Nate!"

Felicity narrows her eyes at her son. "You're gonna be a different kind of Nate here in a second if you don't-"

She doesn't get the chance to finish her threat as she stubs her toe on the kitchen island. Oliver winces _for_ her before wincing for a very different reason. The entire scene shifts as she lets out a yelp of pain, hopping on one foot, her eyes watering. Oliver closes his eyes in dread, already knowing exactly how this is going to go.

He's not wrong.

"Momma?" The second he realizes what's happened, Nate's at her side in a second. "I sorry!" he implores, reaching up to her. When she doesn't immediately reciprocate, he bursts into a fit of barely intelligible sobs. "I so sorry, Momma! I sorry!"

This is, of course, when Jules walks back into the room, along with Digg, Lyla, Sara and baby Connor hot on her heels.

All of them stop just inside the doorway.

"Oh, this is just great," Oliver says.

"Why's he _naked_?" Sara asks, sounding utterly scandalized.

"Because he's Nate," Roy informs her.

"Buddy, come here," Oliver tries, gesturing for the distraught toddler.

But Nate only has eyes for his mother, who has managed to hop a few feet away from him. He waddles his little naked butt over to her and clings to her pant leg.

"I sorry, Momma, I sorry. No more owies," he begs. "I don't run. I so, _so_ sorry."

Felicity nods hard, biting her lip to keep in any noises of discomfort as she reaches down and picks him up. He immediately curls into her, playing with her hair and sniffling into her shirt. He won't let her go for hours. Oliver already knows that, because he knows his little boy. Nate takes being a 'momma's boy' to an entirely new level. The idea that he'd inadvertently done something that led to his mother being hurt… Well, he's gonna be clingy the rest of the night.

That's just Nate.

Oliver sighs, and it matches the heavy breath Felicity lets out as their eyes meet across the kitchen. ' _You okay?'_ he mouths to her, and she nods. He sighs again before shaking his head at his son. He can't keep a smile off his lips, despite that fact that at this rate all they'll have energy for when they get home is walking up the stairs to their bedroom.

"I'd forgotten how great that stage is," Lyla says, shifting a nine-month-old Connor on her hip.

"Right around the corner," Diggle points out.

"I did _not_ do that," Sara protests. The ten-year-old crosses her arms across the front of her Wonder Woman costume, her Lasso of Truth dangling from her side as she eyes Nate with a tremendously judgmental gaze.

Digg gives her a genial smile. "Wanna see pictures?"

"I have surveillance video somewhere," Felicity chimes in between hushing noises as she rocks Nate, soothing the little boy's tears. "Come on, buddy," she says in a low tone to him. "I'm okay. I promise. Let's go get you in your costume so we can go get some candy, okay?"

He perks up a little at that, looking up at her with those wide blue eyes of his that make his mother melt every single time. This time's no different. She smiles down at the little boy in her arms and Oliver's pretty sure they've both forgotten there's anyone else in the room. It may be incredibly _exhausting_ , but Oliver's grateful they have this kind of bond. Jules has fought to be self-reliant since she entered the world while Ellie's clung to him from the start, but Nate… Nate needs his mother.

"Candy?" Nate asks, perking up substantially.

"Yeah," Jules interrupts. "Candy. So get your little butt back in a diaper and a costume so we can go!"

Her patience is low, to the point that Oliver almost tells her to cool it, but Nate doesn't seem to get that. Instead he looks back up at his mother with those same big eyes.

"Candy, Momma!"

Pure joy radiates off of the little boy as he bounces in his mother's arms, his little naked butt jiggling against her forearm. Oliver just sighs. At least it's clean, which is a win in his book.

"I have?" Nate asks her.

Felicity pretends to think it over, making a show of it. It earns an eye roll from Jules and another disgruntled look from Sara at the sight of the naked little boy being incredibly naked. Nate doesn't care though. He watches Felicity with tremendous focus, ready to hang on her every word.

"One condition," she finally says. He nods like he has any idea what 'condition' means. "You have to wear your costume, Nate. Nobody's giving candy to streakers."

To his credit, Nate tries to understand what she's saying, but his mother used words that are years ahead of him and he's a bit clueless. So he resorts back to, "I have candy? P'ease, Momma?"

"Yeah, Nater-Tater-Bug," she says with a sigh, smoothing her hand over his fine blonde hair. "Just as soon as you're in your costume because naked boys don't get treats."

Oliver can attest to the fact that that is absolutely not true, but he bites his tongue, keeping that thought to himself. This isn't the time for that, unfortunately, although he loses the battle with a grin when he sees Diggle's face.

Nate squeals with glee and dives for his mother's chest, hugging her tightly. She shakes her head affectionately, hugging him back. He sighs in contentment, burrowing even further into her arms. He's all trust and peace and joy. His adoration of his mother is absolute, but if you add the promise of candy to the mix… He's just positively euphoric then.

"Come on, baby boy," Felicity says, cradling him close. "Let's go get you ready."

"'Kay," he agrees, a perma-grin affixed to his face as he shuts his eyes and breathes in his mother's scent. She kisses the crown of his head, humming happily into his hair as the little boy starts sucking on his thumb, a habit he simply refuses to break. The contentment goes both ways, and it's a sight. Sometimes Oliver just likes to stand back and watch them. The bond between his wife and their youngest is a hell of a thing to soak in. It feels like a privilege just to see it.

She touches Oliver's shoulder as she walks past him toward her office. He captures her hand in his, fingers gently squeeze hers as they go, turning to watch them disappear down the hall.

"Where's Ellie?" Sara asks.

"Upstairs with Aunt Thea," Jules informs her, just as Ellie appears, almost as if she'd planned it that way.

The little girl jumps from three steps up off the stairwell, her wing-covered arms thrown wide as if she's trying to take flight. Felicity would undoubtedly chastise her for being unsafe on the stairs, to which Oliver usually adds under his breath, " _She's fine."_ It's an argument he doesn't have a leg to stand on in Felicity's stead, though. They're both well aware of exactly where Ellie got her activity level from and it isn't her mother. Containing Ellie's boundless energy has become futile, like trying to trap wind in a jar. She's a torrent of motion that leaves even his head spinning.

"I am ready!" Ellie announces with tremendous drama.

"You look _awesome_!" Sara says, hurrying over to her. She takes special care to examine a line of fake gemstones decorating her forehead like a crown. Oliver doesn't know what kind of butterfly has glittery pink hair extensions, but that doesn't seem to matter to Ellie or Sara. And, judging by the incredibly pleased look on Thea's face from the stairwell, it's an inaccuracy that's well worth it.

"I'm not just a butterfly," Ellie tells Sara. "I'm a _monarch_ butterfly, because I'm a Queen. So I _had_ to have a crown and sparkles, because Queens like their sparkly things."

"They absolutely do," Thea chimes in with a sharp, approving nod and a glance to her husband.

Somewhere in the background Roy groans. Oliver's already mentally preparing for their annual trip to the jewelry stores, which his brother-in-law insists he needs to do with him. It's only so he can blame Oliver if Thea doesn't happen to like whatever Roy gets her, although that's never been the case. She's worn everything he's ever gotten her, even the things that Thea of ten years ago would have scoffed at.

"Well, I love it!" Sara proclaims, touching one of the rhinestones on Ellie's head as Ellie beams in delight. "It's super pretty."

"You look great, too," Ellie assures her, nodding toward the Wonder Woman costume. "And now we get to go lasso _candy_!"

The two girls bounce and squeal together while Jules stands in the background, trying not to look half as excited as Oliver knows she really is. It's something he still struggles with, the _why_ of his oldest daughter feeling the need to always hide so much of what she feels, but he's learning to go with the flow. It's trial and error, but he's learning. The less emphasis he puts on her, the more she lets out, but when things get hard? When something comes up that pushes her even further into her cocoon? She's a lot like her mother, at least how she used to be. Finding that fine line between when to leave her alone and when to push her to talk is both the most exhausting thing he's ever done and the greatest, because when it works, he can feel the distance between them lessening.

Right now, for example, he knows better than to tell her to cheer up or perk up, because her excitement is evident, despite her efforts to mask her emotions.

It almost works, too, her attempts to mute her own anticipation, right up until her dog barks at her side. Buster licks her hand, the excitement of the room bleeding over into the mutt. Jules grins down at the dog, a full-blown beautiful grin, and Oliver can't help but be grateful to the pup. He brings out a lightness and openness in Jules that no one else can. Being able to see that side of his daughter is a damn _gift_ , and one he won't give up for anything in the world.

Oliver loves that dog, even if it the only time Buster seems to care about him is when a treat is involved.

Felicity breezes back into the room with a, "We good to go?" and Nate still in her arms. Were it not for the elephant costume his son now wears, Oliver would have thought the little boy hadn't moved an inch. He's in exactly the same position as before. His wife grins at everyone, throwing her fist in the air. "We're only running ten minutes behind. Yay us!"

He chuckles, his love for her running even deeper as he revels in her enthusiasm. He glances at the clock, pleased to see she's exactly right. Between his penchant for being late and their having to wrangle three kids, it's a miracle when anything happens on time in their lives.

"Have fun," Thea says. She kisses Ellie on the cheek before moving to Nate, pressing her lips to the top of his head. Then it's on to Jules, whose hair she ruffles, intentionally making it messier. Another person who seems to see right through Jules is her aunt, although for radically different reasons than Roy or William. It's a kinship that is bred from very different circumstances, but a kinship nonetheless. She just instinctively knows what to do, like right now. The hair ruffle is affectionate without being showy and it helps with her bedraggled zombie look, leaving Jules looking pleased.

"You aren't going with?" Lyla asks, shifting little Connor from one shoulder to the other. The baby yawns widely, his sleepy eyes batting shut. One second he's awake and blinking at the room and the next, he's a passed out little boy in a teddy bear costume draped over his mother's shoulder. It's damned cute. Not enough to make Oliver want another kid - his always response when Digg ribs him about it is, " _No. God, no,"_ which in turn makes his best friend laugh because he doesn't believe him - or even want to babysit Connor, but he's cute all the same.

"Oh, _heck_ no." Felicity snorts. "Someone's gotta stay and hand out candy."

"Why don't you just put out a bowl?" Lyla asks.

Oliver flushes, his mind jumping back to last year. It's an innocent enough question. Lyla had missed the festivities last year because she'd been laid up pregnant and miserable. She hadn't been around for the mess that'd followed when they'd tried that exact thing.

"Yeah," Felicity says, giving Oliver a meaningful, if _slightly_ judgmental, look. He winces, averting his eyes. "That didn't work out so well last year."

"Why's that?" Lyla asks.

"Because big kids are meanies," Ellie announces firmly. "They forgot manners."

Oliver chuckles awkwardly, gripping the back of his neck as he announces, "It doesn't matter because it's not happening this year." He clears his throat, moving to herd the kids out. "Let's get going."

"But, what..." Lyla starts.

"A bunch of teenagers stole all the candy from the entire street and made the girls cry," Felicity tells her. "Like full-on bawling tears with snotty noses. And Nate didn't know what was going on. All he knew was that his sisters were crying, so he started crying, too. None of which solved the entire lack of candy issue. So, Oliver-"

"Took care of it," he finishes, cutting her off.

"So, _Oliver_ ," she continues, not the least bit dissuaded, her voice far more chipper than is warranted, "decided he needed to teach the little thieves a lesson."

"Oliver… you didn't," Lyla says, casting him a look all her own. "Tell me you didn't."

His entire lack of response is all the answer she needs, because oh, he had. Lyla's face melts into shock as Felicity keeps going.

"Yup!" his wife adds crisply. "The Arrow put the fear of god into a couple of super rude teenagers over a bag full of Snickers."

"It was more than a _bag_ full," Oliver retorts, as if that's a valid defense. Which it is. Or it _had_ been, at the time.

"It was _Snickers_ ," Jules adds, clearly on his side.

Oliver waves at his eldest daughter with an emphatic, "Thank you."

"So not the point!" Felicity tells them both, waving a hand wildly to emphasize said point. "You went all ' _grr_ ' on a few high schoolers over _candy_ , Oliver. You took actual candy from babies."

Really, he hadn't needed to do much more than show up in his suit and use his voice modulator to put those kids in their place. He hadn't even brought his bow. But the point, quite frankly, had nothing at all to do with candy. No, it'd had everything to do with those obnoxious, bored teenagers making his kids cry. That was not a thing Oliver had ever been going to let slide.

" _They_ took candy from babies," he defends. "And, it's a stepping stone crime." Felicity rolls her eyes. "You and I both know the number of cars vandalized in the neighborhood dropped very sharply after that, so I think it was a good idea on several fronts."

"I honestly can't even believe you're defending this still," his wife tells him, shaking her head. "They were _kids_ , Oliver."

"No, they were _teenagers_ who were _stealing_ ," Oliver replies. "And they took my kids' candy."

His argument falls as flat as it did last year.

Lyla's eyeing him with much the same look as Felicity, which is almost enough to make him stop. It gets scary with the two of them together, sometimes. When they're on the same page, it's usually best to just get out of their way, something Digg clearly agrees with as he's stepped backward to distance himself from it all.

John Diggle is a smart man.

"So," Thea interrupts with a little clap of her hands, "for the sake of the local tween population's sanity, Roy and I are sticking behind to police the candy distribution." She makes her way over to her husband's side, tucking herself under his arm.

"I am genuinely sorry that I asked," Lyla says.

"Get outta here," Roy tells them, following Thea's lead. "You're losing daylight and that little elephant isn't going to be trumpeting real soon."

He nods to Nate and Oliver looks to find he's absolutely right. Nap or no, Nate isn't going to be up very long. His eyes are already glassy and he's still sucking his thumb as he curls his other fist into his mother's shirt, clinging for all he's worth. The cozy elephant costume probably isn't helping.

"Finally," Jules says, hurrying to the front door. "We have a lot of ground to cover, people."

"Yes, ma'am," Diggle says, moving to follow after her but not before cupping the back of Connor's sleeping head and giving Lyla a kiss.

"Two per kid," Oliver tells Thea, pointing at the bowl of candy on the counter.

"Or what?" she asks. "You'll point an arrow at me?"

Her voice is dry as sandpaper and her eyes challenge him for an answer. In truth, he's just glad to see her attitude so very in character after everything she's been through lately. So, he grimaces at yet one more callback to last year - really, he'd thought they'd all put that behind them - and reaches for Ellie's hand instead.

The group heads to the front door, Felicity shouting, " _Thank you! We won't be long!"_ over her shoulder as they go.

Ellie skips happily at his side as they head out, Sara ahead of them at Digg's side, concentrating on unhooking her lasso while still carrying her empty pillowcase. Jules is already outside, waiting for them. She lingers a few steps to the side of the group, trying to look as creepy and off-putting as she possibly can. It _works_ , disturbingly well.

When they reach the sidewalk, Jules pulls out the map they'd drawn up. "Diaz house first," she announces, pointing at the paper. "They had homemade cookies last year and I have it on good authority that Mrs. Diaz made butterscotch chip ones this year. They're our top priority."

"You ' _have it on good authority_?'" Felicity repeats with tremendous amusement and no small trace of disbelief.

"Playground chatter," Jules tells her with a hard nod. "I have my ear to the ground. It's solid intel."

It's possible they've been using too much Team Arrow lingo around the kids, Oliver decides, but this isn't the moment to address any of that.

Ellie couldn't care less which house they hit first and Sara's too busy trying to actually use her lasso to weigh in, so blessedly there's no debate between the girls as they head three doors down and start the trick-or-treating process.

The girls band together, the monarch butterfly queen, her superhero warrior queen defender and the zombie chasing them both as they rush from house to house. Anticipation of a sugar high for kids is maybe as bad as the sugar high itself. When they crash for the night, the girls are going to crash _hard_.

Nate beats them to it.

The two-year-old makes it exactly three houses before he's asleep on his mother's shoulder, soft little huffs of air shifting his plush gray trunk with every breath.

"Want me to take him home?" Oliver asks his wife softly, soaking in the peaceful image of their little boy so very at ease as he slumbers in his mother's arms.

"No, we're good," Felicity replies with a little shake of her head. She rubs her hand in slow circles across the little boy's back. "This is kind of nice, actually." She smiles, rocking Nate slightly as she watches the girls rush up to the next house, Digg and Lyla at their sides.

Oliver knows exactly how she feels - gratitude and amazement, the realization that this is their family washing over her. And it's not just the girls and Nate. It's not even just each other. It's Digg and Lyla and Sara and Connor, too.

It's their own little Queen family and their self-made Arrow family.

For all the ups and downs, Oliver knows she wouldn't change a thing.

He knows it because neither would he.

"How're you feeling?" she asks him, turning back and glancing down at his midsection.

Reminders of his stab wound are unnecessary, because it's never far from his mind. All the standing and walking around he'd done in the house had seemed perfectly fine because it'd been minimal. Walking for several blocks with his family and stopping every once in a while to talk to some neighbors or friends is taking its toll. As is the fact that Ellie insists on showing them every bit of bounty she's collected so far - squatting down to her level had been a mistake he'd made only once.

"I'm fine," he replies. She doesn't buy it, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "I am," he insists. He winks at her. "And I still intend to prove it to you later."

"Oliver," she says, shaking her head at him. She glances at the house they're currently waiting at, watching the girls as they wait for the door to be answered. "You really shouldn't."

"Yes, _I_ really shouldn't," he emphasizes, wrapping his arm around her. He slides a hand down her arm before shifting it to her hip. He tightens his fingers against the curve of her slim-fitting jeans, leaning in to whisper into her ear. "Doesn't mean _you_ can't."

" _Oliver_."

"What?" he asks innocently, pulling back to give her a guileless look. Even though the sun has started dipping below the horizon, there's still enough light to see her flushing. He grins. "It's Halloween." He leans in, kissing her ear, earning him a shiver. "I want a treat."

Felicity groans, leaning into him despite her obvious attempts not to. He nuzzles the side of her face, giving her a lingering kiss on her cheek that promises so much more, because he knows he's won this round. He can just imagine that blush of hers dipping down below her shirt, to every inch of her as she thinks about what he's suggesting. His fingers tingle with anticipation and he licks his lips because _oh yes_ , he's definitely looking forward to the rest of the evening. As soon as they get home, as soon as they get Nate down, as soon as the girls have crashed from their sugar highs and are tucked nice and tightly in their own beds, sound asleep… their night begins.

"You are so much trouble, Oliver Queen."

Oliver chuckles, but before he can say anything, Felicity turns to him, giving him a kiss. There's a new promise behind it, one that makes his body tighten and sends the thought, ' _How much longer?'_ to filter through his head.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Ellie says, rocketing her way down the sidewalk, interrupting the moment. Felicity smiles against his lips just before he pulls away to look at their daughter. But not before giving Felicity a wink, a very salacious wink that makes her huff and murmur something about 'insatiable' and 'death wish.' Oliver leans over as much as he can as Ellie holds up her bag for him to look into. "Ms. Sanders let me pick as much as I wanted!"

Oliver raises an eyebrow at that. "She did, huh?" He stands up in time to catch the lady in question before she shuts her door. He raises his hand and waves at her as he says, "That's nice of her." The light sarcasm in his voice is cut off as the movement pulls at his stitches. He barely stops himself from groaning out loud and he tries to cover it up by turning back to Ellie. "What'd you get then?"

"Oh yeah, you're really ready for some action," Felicity says.

He nudges her with his elbow - because _yes_ , he is - but all his attention is on Ellie as the group migrates. She cuts herself off the second they reach the next house, quickly joining Sara and Jules again.

"I am," Oliver tells Felicity, to which she gives him a light, "Ha!"

They make their way through the neighborhood at a glacial pace.

Unfortunately for Oliver but very fortunately for the kids, the map that he'd painstakingly helped Jules draw up includes houses that are scattered all over the goddamn place. It'd been fun thinking about it before - the idea of giving his kids a memorable Halloween had taken over all common sense - but now he's feeling it. Really, he's feeling the fact that he lost so much blood and that there's still a sizable gash in his side because of it.

Felicity keeps herself from asking, which makes him love her all the more, but he can see the worry all over her face.

"I'm fine," he insists.

If anything, it's a reminder that he almost didn't get the chance to see this night. But if Digg and Lyla aren't saying anything, surely she's just worrying too much. In the end, though, it's not anyone in their group that notices anything strange.

"Whoa! _Awesome_! That looks like real blood!"

It's Trevor, a boy from Ellie's class who knows Oliver very well because of the last field trip he chaperoned. In all his Michelangelo glory and using his nunchucks to point at it so his dad can see, he points out that something isn't quite right.

"What's your costume, Mr. Queen?" Trevor asks, eyes wide with excitement as Oliver jerks, looking down to see his shirt is soaked through with blood.

"Oh…!" Felicity says, her eyes widening before remembering just where she is. The word morphs into a laugh as she turns abruptly to grin at Trevor's parents, Karen and Hal. "Uh…"

He has nothing to say, and he knows she isn't any better off. She'd always made a point to poke fun at him about his lying skills, but hers aren't much better. Literally anything would have sufficed, but the reality of him bleeding again renders them both speechless.

Thankfully, they're both saved from having to come up with anything because Jules appears out of nowhere, drawing Trevor's attention with an awed gasp and letting them off the hook.

"Our next stop is on Glenarm," their daughter reports, barely sparing Trevor a glance before she's gone again, running after Sara and Ellie. Ellie lets out a squeal when Jules appears, running along with Sara as they head towards the street in question.

"That's our cue," Felicity says, balancing Nate on one tired arm and grabbing Oliver's elbow with her other hand. "Happy Halloween!"

"I bet they're both zombies," they hear Trevor saying behind them as Felicity and Oliver hustle over to where Diggle and Lyla wait for them. "Did you see that, Dad, did you see…?"

"What's up?" Lyla asks, her eyes dancing over both of them. They widen when they see the growing spot of blood on his Henley. "Oh, that's not good."

"You popped your stitches," Felicity says, alarm coloring her voice as she stops abruptly to look. Oliver wraps his arm around her to stop her, not wanting to draw attention. "Oliver-"

"I'm okay," he promises, covering the wound. His shirt is wet and warm, which isn't a great thing to feel, especially after last night. His stomach rolls, the sensation bringing back the very real feeling of blood leaking through his fingers. He has to swallow a burst of nausea down.

"You're not fine," she argues. "And we're going home. Right now."

Oliver shakes his head, grabbing her before she can call the girls back. "No-"

"Yes," Felicity insists, lowering her voice so much that it's nearly a hiss. "I'm not going through last night again, Oliver, especially when our kids are out here, okay? We're going home. You said you'd go if something happened. Well, this is something happening, okay, this is-"

"Felicity," Oliver interrupts, stopping abruptly. "I'll go home. Okay?"

" _We'll_ go home," she amends. "You're not going by yourself."

"No," Diggle interjects. "He's not."

Felicity's head whips around to look at him, and it's only then that Oliver realizes just how erratically she's breathing. He smooths his free hand up and down her back, stepping closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. She looks back at him and Oliver's heart takes a hit at the very real fear in her eyes. She's back to last night, back to when she'd had to listen to him over the comms, when he'd been out of her reach.

"Hey," he whispers, just for her ears, but Digg's already talking.

"I'll take him back," he says, reaching for Connor where he's still knocked out on Lyla's shoulder. The baby transfers easily, looking infinitely smaller against Diggle's large frame. He cradles the little boy against his chest, looking at Felicity and Oliver in turn. "How about all the guys head back and we let you ladies finish up out here?"

"Mom!" Jules shouts in the distance. The three girls have all stopped at the next corner, clearly waiting for their parents, knowing they can't go to the next street without them. "Come on!"

"Hang on, Jules!" Felicity shouts back, a little too sharply. She instantly regrets it, softening her voice as she adds, "Just give us a minute, okay?"

It's obvious she has every intention of _not_ going to the next street with them.

"Felicity, go," Oliver says gently. "It's just a stitch or two. Finish up with the kids. There's only one block left on her map. I'll take Nate and head back with John, okay? He's perfectly capable of fixing me up."

She frowns, cradling Nate closer, shaking her head. "But…"

"He'll be fine, Felicity," Diggle says, sidling up next to them. One arm holds Connor while the other grasps Felicity's arm. "It looks worse than it is."

"You don't know that," Felicity argues. "He's _bleeding_ , John."

"Felicity," Oliver starts, but Diggle beats him to the punch.

"Yes, he is," he says, speaking over him, not sugar-coating it. "And I'm going to stitch him back up and get his ass back in bed." Digg gives Oliver a pointed look. "Where he belongs."

Oliver presses his lips together in consternation, but he's right. Although he doesn't regret coming out here one bit. "Where I belong," he agrees. It's obviously for Felicity's benefit, which she knows. They all know it. But despite that, she takes a deep breath, staring at him with hard eyes.

"Fine," she says. "But if you're not in that bed when we get home, Oliver," she adds, pointing a finger at him, "I will do so much worse to you than what you have there. Do you hear me?"

He can't help it - he smiles. It only serves to upset her more, and she narrows her eyes, but before she can continue, he nods. "I hear you. I promise."

"Good," Felicity replies. Her voice cracks a little, but she pushes it back down. He wants nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms, right here and now, but he can't. If anything, they're in public, but mostly, they still have trick-or-treating children needing their attention _now_. "Okay. Then…" She moves to hand him Nate before hesitating. "Are you sure you can take him? I don't mind carrying him."

"I've got him, honey," Oliver says, opening his arms for her to place Nate in.

The toddler goes without argument, although he does blink his eyes open when he realizes he's no longer in his mother's embrace. He's too tired to fight it. Instead, as Oliver hikes him closer, letting him settle naturally against his chest, Nate falls back asleep, curling into the warmth and security of his father's arms. Oliver kisses his forehead before leaning in for a kiss from Felicity. She cups his face, kissing him with more force. He returns it, wholeheartedly, not caring that he's bleeding in the street. If this is what she needs, he'll give it to her. Especially because he needs it just as much.

"I love you," she says. "We'll be home really soon."

"No." Oliver shakes his head. "Take your time. Let them take their time. We'll be fine. _I'll_ be fine. Okay?" She nods, not letting him go just yet. He kisses her again with a soft, "I love you," before stepping back. "Go. Your zombie's getting impatient."

"Ha," Felicity says, wiping her nose. She rubs Nate's back, pressing a kiss to his cheek before grabbing Oliver's hand. "She gets that from you, you know."

He snorts - she's not _entirely_ wrong - and squeezes her fingers one last time before they part ways. Oliver watches Felicity and Lyla go to meet the girls, staying long enough to see Felicity head straight for Jules. Their eldest daughter gives her a cold shoulder, obviously miffed at being snapped at earlier. She moves to head to Glenarm Street without a word, but Felicity stops her and crouches down to her level. He can't hear what they're saying, but it's something that seems to work. At least enough for Jules to let Felicity fix some of the fake dead flesh hanging off of Jules' face. With a shrug and what might even be a smile, she gives her mother a nod.

And then they're off, but not without a wave from his daughters, and a lingering look from his wife.

Diggle waves for both of them before clapping Oliver's shoulder lightly. "Let's get you back, man."

"Yeah," Oliver says, holding Nate closer as Diggle cradles Connor. It amazes him that this is their life; it _fits_. They spent one night battling the darkness that still plagues Starling City, and the next taking their kids trick-or-treating. They turn back home. It's a straight-shot, cutting through the neighborhood, and it won't take nearly as long since they aren't zigzagging all over the place to follow the map. "Thanks for coming back with me."

"Figured I could at least stitch you back up before she rips you a new one," his friend jokes.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees, his voice turning glum. Despite the slightly woozy feeling still living in his stomach, he's very clearheaded. "No treat for me," he mumbles under his breath.

It doesn't take them long to reach the house. Maybe it's a testament to his willpower, but the second they cross the threshold, Oliver is suddenly much more aware of how much pain he's in and how much blood he's leaking all over the place. He gives Nate to Thea, who takes him upstairs to be put to bed, while Roy takes Connor, leaving Diggle to help his pathetic ass up the stairs.

There's a few more rings from the doorbell - he mostly hears Buster's vocal response to them than the actual bells - from trick-or-treaters, but for the most part the house is quiet.

Digg cleans up the blood and redoes the stitches, having inadvertently done _more_ damage by pulling them. His friend sticks around long enough to grab the cane Oliver keeps just in case - a cane he's used far too many times after way too many injuries - before leaving him to change. Oliver manages to get his jeans and shirts off before tugging on a pair of sweats. He hobbles over to the bed, using the cane to sit down without too much strain. And then…

And then somehow he goes from closing his eyes 'for just a second' to falling asleep. It happens so fast that he doesn't get the chance to be frustrated with himself for missing the girls coming home, or missing the chance to talk to Felicity.

The soft brushing of a hand over his cheek rouses him some time later.

Oliver slowly blinks himself awake. It's not an over-awareness of the fact that he's got a serious wound and he shouldn't be jolting himself to alertness, but the simple fact that he's somewhere safe. He doesn't need to wake up with a start, not like he used to. Not when he's home, with his family, safe and sound. Some part of him just _knows_ that the girls got home okay, like he'd been aware of his surroundings, despite being asleep. Of course he had been.

The room is darker than when he fell asleep, the only light coming from the closet and Felicity's smile. She hovers over him, her hair cascading over her shoulder, surrounding her like a halo.

Her nails drag down his cheek, scraping through his stubble.

"Hey," he whispers, waking up more. He slides his hand over her lap, gripping her bare thigh. "The girls get to bed okay?"

Felicity's grin widens. "Yeah. And they made out like bandits. They had to have eaten at least half of that candy because they were buzzing around like they were on a vertigo high before they all crashed downstairs. They made a pillow castle." Oliver grins at that. "Jules even helped. It's pretty impressive. And Sara stayed over." She chuckles. "Mostly because she fell asleep inside the castle with Ellie, and John didn't have the heart to move her."

Oliver hums in contentment, his eyes slipping shut again.

"How about you?" Felicity asks, her voice changing as she sits up. Her hand slips down his body to the gauze covering his wound. "You okay?"

"I am very okay," he replies. "I promise."

She's quiet for a moment, quiet enough to prompt him to open his eyes and look at her again. Felicity stares at the gauze, her fingers tracing the new tape secured to his skin.

"Hey," Oliver whispers, pulling on her thighs to get her attention. When Felicity meets his gaze, he gives her a small smile. "I'm okay."

"You scared me," she admits, her voice soft. She bites her lip, glancing back at the gauze. "I was just… I was right back there, to last night." Felicity screws her eyes shut tightly. "You were so pale when you came in, Oliver, I didn't realize how much…"

Her breath hitches as she cuts herself off.

"I'm sorry," Oliver says, rubbing his thumb over her thigh. He wants to sit up and pull her into his arms, but he knows that will require far more effort than he should give, if the stitches in his gut have anything to say about it. Instead he reaches for her, sliding his hand up her arm, urging her closer. "I hate that I put you through that. I hate that I _always_ put you through that, Felicity. I'm sorry. And I shouldn't have pushed myself so hard tonight either."

"No." Felicity shakes her head, grabbing her hand in his. She laces their fingers together, bringing them to her lips for a kiss before leaning over him. She's extra careful to not jostle him as she stares into his eyes. "You should have. You really should have. You were right, earlier, about not missing tonight, Oliver. I'd rather have you there and be worried out of my mind - and angry that I have to be worried," she says with a little laugh, one that quickly fades as she adds, "than not have you there at all."

She's talking about tonight, about injuries and potentially missing big moments because he has to heal, but underneath it, there's more. So much more. And they both know it.

"Felicity," Oliver breathes, cupping her face. He tugs on her until she's hovering over him, until he can kiss her. It's so soft, so loving, so _perfect_ , and it says everything that they can't - that they _won't_ \- put into words right now. He sighs her name once more, cradling her as much as he can.

She pulls away sooner than he will ever want, but she doesn't go far.

"You know," Felicity whispers, slipping her hand down his chest, past his wound… and to his sweats. Her fingers trace the band of his pants, his body tightening at the promise behind her words. "I remember someone saying they were going to prove just how okay they were."

The shift in focus is obvious, but oh so needed.

Oliver smiles, watching her with hooded eyes where she smiles down at him. "Mm," he says, slipping his hand back over her thighs. "I remember something about being very… _creative_."

He presses his fingers between her legs, and she spreads them without hesitation. For the first time, he notices she's changed into what she usually wears to bed - one of his t-shirts. And she's… Oliver inhales sharply and she smiles down at him. It quickly morphs into a pant as he presses his hand deeper between her thighs, his fingers slipping over her already damp folds. She spreads her legs further, giving him more access. He takes complete advantage of it, reveling in the way her head falls back when he touches her.

"It's still technically Halloween," she informs him, a little breathlessly. He nods, not really following where she's going with that… not until she slips her hand inside his sweats. Felicity wraps her hand around his growing hardness, making him gasp. The sensation of her fingers pulling at him sends a surge of desire through him as he starts to thicken under her ministrations. Oliver's eyes slip shut, all the power he has left inside him going towards _not_ thrusting up into her hand. That requires a lot of core muscles and he so, _so_ doesn't want this to stop. He grips her thigh tightly as she adds, "And I remember something about a treat."

All Oliver can manage is a strangled whimper.

With a soft grin, Felicity stands. The next noise Oliver makes is akin to a whimper, but of a very different nature as her hand leaves his sweats and her movements forces his to leave the warmth between her legs.

She stands, her eyes never leaving his, and strips out of his shirt. She's gloriously naked underneath, and she pauses long enough to let his eyes feast on her. She runs her hands down her sides, over her hips - they're wider, more full from carrying their children, and he _loves_ it - and then back up.

"Felicity," he moans, reaching for her. He doesn't get far, letting out a pained noise when the move pulls at his stomach.

"Easy," she whispers, leaning over. She hooks her fingers in his pants, but she doesn't pull them down just yet. "If this is going to work, you need to lay completely still. Okay?"

He laughs, a full-bodied laugh because the odds of that happening are so very low, but even that makes him groan in pain.

"I'm serious, Oliver," Felicity says. She pulls her fingers out of his pants and suddenly Oliver finds himself nodding emphatically.

"No, wait, I'll do my best," he replies, meeting her gaze. She quirks an eyebrow at him. "You have absolutely no idea how hard I have to concentrate on not touching you sometimes, Felicity, so when I can…" He groans, and this time it's definitely not pain-related. "Especially when it's been too damn long."

Felicity licks her lips and it's nearly his undoing.

"Okay," she agrees before pulling his pants down.

His eager erection pops free and she doesn't waste a second, grasping him tightly. Oliver moans, his head falling back, his hands falling to the bed to grasp the sheet into tight fists as she starts stroking him. God, it feels good. So good. Fucking-fantastic-good. He wants more. He wants her hands on him just as much as he wants to feel her lips wrapped around him, but nothing comes close to the need burning through him to be buried deep inside her.

"Felicity," he rasps.

She's already climbing on the bed.

Felicity straddles him carefully, but it's clear she's just as needy as he is by the way she stares at him. Oliver nods, touching her thighs as much as he can without using his core. His fingers drift over her skin, sending goosebumps scattering across them. The muscles tremble slightly as she reaches between them. She positions him at her entrance and despite himself, his hips jerk up, seeking her heat. The movement makes him hiss. The vivid combination of pain and pleasure is enough to have his eyes rolling into the back of his head, even though Felicity instantly freezes, leaving his erection pressed to her wet heat… so close…

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he promises. He looks at her. "Please… please, don't stop."

"No moving," she whispers, and he nods. It quickly turns into a bodily shudder as she slowly thrusts down, taking him inside her. Her eyes never leave his, and the constant contact makes every single sensation more intense. Felicity gasps for air, her body shaking with the effort to not fall on him, and it takes everything in him to not move to meet her as she finally settles over him. She trembles as she gasps his name.

It's _perfect_.

Felicity starts moving, slow, gentle thrusts. Up and down, _slowly_ , her hips rocking over him, barely enough to make the bed even jostle. They never look away from each other, sharing so much more than anything physical.

She grasps her own thighs, using them as leverage instead of him, like she usually does. He hates it. He wants her to fall on top of him, he wants to feel her nails digging into his muscles, he _needs_ to feel the abandon that usually takes over them both when they come too close to the fire. He wants to touch her, he wants to pull her down against him and feel everything, but he _can't_.

Oliver reaches for her hands, lacing his fingers with hers, gripping her tightly as she makes love to him.

It doesn't take long. He's exhausted, both mentally and physically, and she's been through the wringer in her own way. The familiar burn starts to coil at the base of his spine, making his nerves feel like they're on fire as it grows too fast.

"Felicity…"

He moves their combined fingers between her legs, needing her to join him. The instant his fingers brush over her sensitive pearl, she cries out, so loudly she clamps her mouth shut. He doesn't want her to do that, he wants to hear her cry out for him, shout his name. Oliver does it again, pressing his thumb against her tender flesh. He rubs her, moving faster, delighting in her growing cries as she starts moving faster. He feels the tug of his stitches, telling him he's tensing up, but he can't help it… and he doesn't want to.

"Come for me," he whispers. Her face crumples, her nails digging into the back of his hands. He's close, so close, but he won't go over without her. He needs to feel her falling into oblivion right along with him, an affirmation he only wants to reach with her by his side. "Felicity… please…"

"Yes," she sighs, over and over, pleasure suffusing every inch of her body.

Without warning, she hits her peak, eliciting a sharp cry from deep in her chest that echoes through the room. Oliver rubs her harder, faster, knowing he's doing too much judging by the pain in his stomach, but he doesn't stop.

Felicity comes a second later, her back bowing, her head falling back. It doesn't take much for him to follow. One thrust and the feeling of her inner walls clamping down around him and he's joining her, emptying himself inside her as he jerks once before pain forces him to fall still. The added pain and the fact that he can't move amplifies the pleasure filling him, his cries joining hers.

When they finally come down, Felicity checks his wound. She doesn't bother getting off him yet, and he's still buried inside her as she makes sure he's okay. He smiles, barely able to keep his eyes open as he says, "I'm okay, I'm very, very… very okay."

She laughs and a second later, finally moves. She helps him pull his sweats back up before going through the room. She shuts the lights off and tugs the curtains closed before she climbs in next to him.

Oliver curls around her as much as he can. He's already taxed his body far more than any doctor would advise, but there's nothing on this earth that will keep him from pulling his wife into his arms. She sighs in contentment and gently wraps his arm around her. It's so rare that it's just the two of them in bed these days. Usually Ellie or Nate or both worm their way in between them. And that will probably happen later. Not with Ellie, not on a sugar crash with Sara sleeping over, but with Nate who'd tuckered out _way_ too early to sleep the whole night. But for now… for now it's just them and he utterly revels in the feel of his wife's back pressed up against him, her hair tickling at his chest.

It's peaceful. She hums as she strokes the back of his hand and the scent of her shampoo floods his senses when he kisses the crown of her head. But it also makes him reflective, brings to mind how very close he'd come to losing this and everything else.

"I'm so sorry I scared you," he whispers into her hair. Her hand stops moving against his, but she doesn't let go. If anything, she tightens her hold on him.

She swallows loudly enough that he can hear it and she twists, looking back over her shoulder at him. The room is dark, but he can still make out her features, see the tentative lines of concern that etch her brow. "I love all of you, Oliver," she says after a beat. "That includes the risk taker, the hero, the warrior who goes out night after night putting the city first. There's always a bit of fear that comes with that, because I know what could happen. I've always known, since well before we were _us_. But close calls like last night and reminders like tonight… they make it more real."

"I know," he agrees, kissing her forehead and letting his lips linger against her skin. "I know they do. But I have every intention of growing old with you, Felicity Queen, and I will always do everything in my power to come home to you."

"Yeah," she says before biting her lower lip and running her fingers along the side of his face, cupping his jaw and stroking through the scruff with her thumb. "I know."

She does. He knows that. But she also knows that some day that might not be enough.

They both do.

But that only makes moments like tonight _more_ important. Being there for his kids, making love to his wife, these things take on a whole new level of significance when he thinks about his own mortality. In truth, though, whether his life is over tomorrow or in sixty more years, these moments will always be the important ones and he will always be glad he took the time to savor his connections with his family.

Plus… there's no use lingering on 'what ifs' that might never come to pass. Worry is rational - it's _human_ \- and some of it is unavoidable. But letting it swamp them is pointless.

"Know what I learned tonight?" he asks. His tone shifts on the question, turns playful and light in a way that makes his wife crack a curious grin as she turns in his arms to face him fully.

"That Trevor thinks you're actually a zombie?" she ventures.

"No," he counters before pausing to think about it. "But now that you mention it, that might be useful. I'm not sure I liked the way he was looking at Jules."

His wife slaps his shoulder lightly at that. "He's _six,_ Oliver."

"Just makes him easier to scare," Oliver counters. "Better to get at him early than when he's sixteen, don't you think?"

Felicity huffs and he's pretty sure she rolls her eyes, but it's so dark he can't actually tell for sure. "Ignoring the way that _reeks_ of hijacking your daughter's agency for the moment, do you honestly think warning him off of her now is going to stick for the next decade or so?"

No. Of course he doesn't. He also would never do that in the first place. The very _last_ thing he would ever do to Jules when she's old enough for boys is warn one off. Besides the fact that he wants her to make her own choices for herself - to grow into that confident, strong sense of independence she always projects - he's also absolutely certain that it would wholly backfire. And he can't imagine a faster way to destroy all of the trust he's worked so hard to build with her over these last few years.

But it _does_ thoroughly shift the mood in the room, so he plays along for the moment. Needling his wife is entirely too much fun sometimes.

"Digg's got a shotgun and a shovel, right?" he muses. "He's helped me get rid of bodies before. If this kid doesn't remember at sixteen, I feel like we're fully capable of reminding him."

"Oliver!" Felicity protests, propping herself on her elbow to look down at him.

"What?" he protests with a half laugh. "I remember what I was like at sixteen. Teenage boys are a menace."

"Not all teenage boys are like _you_ ," she tells him. Wrongly, in his estimation, but that's sort of beside the point. "And our daughters will both be smart enough and secure enough to make better choices."

"So you're saying you expect them to be smarter than to pick someone like me?" he asks with amusement.

"Yes," she says definitively.

"Why?" he chuckles. "You weren't."

"Oliver Queen!" she protests. "I most certainly would not have so much as given you the time of day back when we were…" Her voice trails off as his chuckle turns into a full throated laugh that he barely keeps from escalating to the point where it strains his core muscles. "You're kidding. You're messing with me," she realizes. "This is you being funny. Or _thinking_ you are anyhow."

"I'm hilarious," he argues, grinning widely up at her.

"So you _weren't_ actually going to go give Trevor a hard time?" she ventures.

"No," he tells her. "Of course not. He's six and even when he's sixteen, Jules gets to make her own choices… well, except for the fact that she'll be nineteen and that's not entirely legal, but you get my point."

She does and some of the fight deflates out of her as she leans back down, her elbow resting against his pillow. "Then what was it you realized?"

If anything, the question only makes his grin grow wider and he cranes his neck up to kiss her with a hard press of his lips to hers before pulling back slightly. "That we, my love, need a four poster bed."

"...Do we?" she asks mischievously, leaning in and kissing him again. "Why's that?"

"All _kinds_ of reasons," he replies, pausing to tangle his hand in her hair and rain kisses down along the column of her throat. "After we get one, I'll show you."

As it turns out, they're not even to Thanksgiving before he does.


	6. June 2024

William nods his head along to the music blaring through his one earbud, scanning the last panel on the page before turning it, lost in the beat of the music and the way it's accenting the story. He figures he's got the rest of this album before he needs to get to practice. His mom isn't there to remind him of the time every ten minutes.

It's not his customary every-other-weekend at his dad's house, but he's there anyhow because his mom had to go and get _married_ , and she's now on her honeymoon with his new stepdad. He isn't thrilled about the change to his family. He's already got a dad, he doesn't need another one, and he sure as hell doesn't need a brat stepsister.

But, whatever. He's got two years until college and then he'll be out of there. And, until then, he's always got his room at his dad and Felicity's house to escape to whenever his mom and David get too mushy, or his new stepsister decides to be a royal pain in the ass. Which seems to be always, by his estimation. On both counts.

He likes it here, anyway, even if it's almost never quiet.

Like right now.

His bedroom door bursts open with a sudden jarring motion and no knock, which tells him immediately that it's not his dad or Felicity. They both have more respect for his privacy than that.

"If you love me, you'll hide me."

William looks up to find his nine-year-old sister shutting the door behind her and staring at him with pleading eyes. Of _course_ it's Jules. Unlike his dad and stepmom, she's has never had a sense of boundaries when it comes to their relationship. Although, if he's being honest, most of the time he's kinda cool with that. He likes his sister, even if she is sort of a baby still. She's got spunk and she looks up to him.

There's something pretty great about that.

"Do we both need to hide?" William asks, sitting up on his bed with rapt attention as he pulls out his earbud and tosses his comic book to the side.

"That might be a really good idea," Jules tells him, her voice painfully solemn and lacking any trace of her usual snark. He raises his eyebrows. She's being completely serious.

He strains his ears, catching a hint of crying echoing from downstairs. Several voices crying, actually, childish wails that make it sound like the world is ending. Or maybe someone dropped their food. It could go either way.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nate's teething and he bit Ellie," Jules informs him. "So, of course, she started crying, which means _he_ started crying. And on top of that, Mom's watching Connor for Aunt Lyla and Uncle Digg today, so _he_ started crying, too, because he's a baby and all they do is cry." Jules makes a face. "It's like a giant tear- and snot-fest down there and I want no part of it. Kids are gross and exhausting."

William snorts. "You're going into fourth grade," he points out, not bothering in the least to hide his amusement from his little sister.

"Yeah," Jules agrees, her voice heavy with the kind of sass he's long associated with her. "Which is almost middle school. And practically grown up."

He laughs. "Okay. If you say so."

"So are you gonna kick me out?" she demands, cutting to the chase with a hand on her hip and her head cocked to the side. "Or can I stay and hang out with you?"

She does this a lot, pretends like she's only asking to spend time with him because the alternative is worse, but William's not dumb. He knows this is just her way of asking if they can hang out without making it seem important to her. For a long while, it made him roll his eyes - why not just _ask_? But now he gets it, sort of. He catches himself doing the same thing with his mom since she started dating David.

Ugh. _David_. Stupid David.

Jules' eyebrows are practically living in her hair at this point, all expectation as she stares at him.

"Nah, you can stay," he tells her with a shrug that's equally as off-handed as her question had been. "I'm not gonna toss you back to the chorus of wailing babies. I'm not that mean."

Jules nods. "Cool."

She takes a few more steps into his space, looking around the room. He hasn't changed much lately. There's some new pictures he's tacked up on his mirror, mostly of his friends at school and his teammates, but also of his family. There are two recent ones of him with Jules and he knows the instant she spots them because she bites her thumbnail, almost covering up her smile as she stares at them.

"You coming to my game next week?" William asks, mostly just to give her something to talk about. He already knows the answer. Felicity told him this morning.

"Yeah, Aunt Thea and Uncle Roy said they'd take me," Jules tells him brightly. She looks so proud of herself. It's sort of adorable. "Dad's got some committee meeting and Mom has an interview with the business journal." He's well aware of this. His dad has been apologizing for _weeks_ that he has to miss the game. It's bothering him a lot, but he absolutely cannot miss the meeting and it can't be rescheduled. William gets it, even if it does sort of suck, because baseball's always kinda been their thing. Still, it's nice to see that his dad is more upset about it than he is. "So," Jules continues, "I made my eyes all big and batted my lashes at Uncle Roy until he caved."

William chuckles, shaking his head because that sounds about right. It's kind of ridiculous how thoroughly Jules has Uncle Roy wrapped around her little finger, not that he'd ever admit it.

"You're starting, right?" she asks. She sounds almost as excited as he feels.

"Yeah," he replies with a proud smile. "They're puttin' me in to pitch right away."

"That's _so_ cool." She walks over to take a seat at his side. "Are you nervous?"

William shrugs a little because _yes_. He's nervous as hell to be starting on the varsity team for the first time, but he's not going to admit that to his little sister. Despite that, she reads his non-answer perfectly, because dismissive gestures are her native language.

"You're gonna be great," she promises him. "Pinky swear. And if anyone even tries to heckle you, they're gonna have to answer to me."

She means it, and he knows it, which is slightly concerning. He'd really rather his not-quite-fourth-grade sister not get tossed out of his first home game of the year for throwing a punch. Because she would. Because she'd land it. Girl packs one hell of a hit. It's not all that surprising considering how committed she is to her dancing - she's athletic and flexible, with a whole lot of power behind it - and with how insistent both their dad and Felicity are about self-defense. But, she's also just _nine_ , and he never expects her to land as solid a punch as she does when they're sparring. She's had him on his ass more than once. So yeah, he doesn't need her doing that.

"Let 'em jeer," William says with a shrug. "It'll just fuel me more."

Telling her _not_ to start a fight would only ensure that she would. Explaining why it was a bad idea would only mean she stopped listening to him. He knows his sister well enough to know that. But dismissing it outright? Framing it as something that actually helps him? That's different.

She gives him an appraising nod, tilting her chin skyward, like she's offering up her respect. It's so cute coming from his little sister - who is _barely_ 60 pounds soaking wet - that he can't help but ruffle her hair a bit. Jules yelps and tries to duck his hand, shoving at his chest until he falls over, but he just laughs. She thinks she's such hot stuff, that she's so grown up, and it's ridiculous. Because she's _nine_.

But it also kinda makes him love her more.

"Jerk," she declares affectionately, attempting to tickle him. She flat out _fails_. For someone as graceful and practiced in her motions as Jules is, she lacks the subtlety to tickle and winds up just jabbing him in the ribs instead with her freakishly bony little fingers.

"Get off me, brat," he says with a laugh, pushing her hands away. "You're a menace."

She's a little too self-satisfied with that pronouncement, but she does let up. She flops back on the bed next to him, landing right on his comic book. Jules might be tiny, but her head's definitely heavy enough to make the book crinkle.

"Hey, watch it," he says, tugging the new issue out from under her. "I haven't even finished that yet."

"Sorry," she says, rolling onto her side and propping herself up onto an elbow. "What is it?"

Looking back later, he'll realize that he probably shouldn't have answered her at all - at least in his stepmother's opinion - but she just looks so _interested_ , and he just loves this series so much. He can't resist the urge to share, especially when she reads his excitement, sending her interest up by about a thousand notches.

"Walking Dead," he tells her. Jules sits up straighter at that, craning her long neck to look at the cover with wide, excited eyes. "It's about zombies. Or… it's about people who survive zombies, anyhow. Mostly. Some of them don't. It gets pretty gory."

"Cool!" she declares. She reaches for it, and he barely keeps it from her as she asks, "Can I see?"

"Uh…" William glances down at the cover in his hands. There's a kid with a half-rotted face clawing at a boarded up wall with a bleeding woman and her newborn on the other side. Not exactly kid-appropriate stuff. He swallows hard as he looks back at Jules' expectant face. "I'm not sure your mom would like that very much."

Her brow furrows and she looks at him like he's possibly crazy. "Why are we telling her?"

"Jules," he says. In his adult-tone. It would be more effective if his voice didn't squeak. "It's gross stuff. Scary stuff. It's gonna give you nightmares."

"Uh, my dad is The Arrow," she reminds him, giving him that sarcastic, know-it-all raised eyebrow that he knows very well. It's practically glued in that position whenever she feels challenged in the least. "I've seen way worse on the screens in the lair since I was old enough to walk, and that stuff's _real_."

"You're _supposed_ to stay in the playroom," he reminds her.

"Yeah, except I'm not six anymore and that's boring," she counters with a little laugh, holding her hand out for the comic.

"Not six?" he asks, ignoring her outstretched fingers.

"Yeah," she replies, as though it's incredibly obvious what she means. And, really, it is.

"Not six like Ellie, you mean," he clarifies.

"Well…" Her hand drops as she sits back, looking a touch uncomfortable, like she hadn't quite realized the extent of what she meant. And maybe she hadn't. She's only nine, after all. "There's nothing wrong with being six. I'm just not, anymore. And I don't wanna play fairies or build a pillow castle. I'm too big for kid stuff."

Skipping the ridiculousness of that final statement, William tosses the comic book to his other side and turns fully to face his little sister, tucking one leg under himself. "She looks up to you. You know that, right, Jules?"

"Okay," she scoffs, rolling her eyes. It's so incredibly dismissive that he knows he's struck a chord with her.

"I'm serious."

"You're crazy," she replies, folding her arms.

"Jules… you're her big sister," William says slowly. "If you don't think she follows you around and tries to play make-believe with you because she looks up to you, you're the one who's crazy."

"She just likes being the center of attention," Jules counters.

"Yeah, the center of _your_ attention." William laughs. "Kid, if you can't see that…"

"Whatever." Discomfort rolls off of her so thickly that it makes the air grow heavy, and William can't do much more than shake his head. He loves the hell out of his little sister, but she can be so blind to the affection everyone has for her. She struggles to even see it, much less accept it. Except from him. For some reason he doesn't get, she believes it when it's from _him,_ has always believed it from him. She huffs. "Can I see the comic book or not?"

"Fine," he decides, grabbing it and tossing it to her. "But if your mom finds out, I'm telling her you wrestled it from me."

"Fair enough," she agrees, grabbing the comic with interest and flipping it open with a look of entranced awe. "This is super gross. It's _awesome_!"

Bad idea or not, it's kinda cool sharing this with her, getting to introduce her to his favorite things. William grins, looking at it over her shoulder. "It is, right?" he asks.

" _Totally_ ," she insists, flipping the page to an even more gruesome one where a zombie horde chases three survivors of the apocalypse. One of them trips on a branch. He hasn't gotten past that part yet, but he's pretty sure that dude's a goner. "If we got attacked by zombies, would you save me?"

"Would you need to be saved?" he asks, shoving at her shoulder. "You'd probably kick zombie ass and then come save my butt."

"Yeah," she agrees, nodding firmly, "I would."

Jules pauses, the comic book forgotten as her gaze shifts to a blank spot on the wall, losing herself in the thought. It's all playing out in her mind and as he watches her he knows she's envisioning herself the hero of her own story, slaying the dead and coming to the rescue. That might be her life one day, he thinks. Not the slaying the dead part, of course, but he can see her following in their father's footsteps, if she ever manages to truly get past this animosity that lives inside her. She can do anything, his little sister, anything she puts her mind to, provided she believes in herself enough. He believes that with every ounce of his being.

"I'd save Nate and Ellie first, though," she adds absently.

 _That_ surprises him and it must show because she turns pink-cheeked like the admission wasn't intentional, like that's not something she meant to say. Jules ducks her head back into the comic book.

"Well… I can probably hold off a zombie or two for a bit on my own," he allows, giving her an out.

She sighs in relief at his words, giving him a nod. "Yeah, that's what I meant. They're just babies. I know Ellie's gonna be all superhero fighter girl one day, but right now she's just barely out of kindergarten. If there were zombies now, she might need me."

He pauses at that, soaking the words in. "Jules, she already needs you," he tells her. "The same way you need me."

That has her eyes flying back to his. It actually gives her pause, even - somewhat miraculously - making her think. He can _see_ it, the way she rolls that thought around her mind. She wants to believe him, but she's so protective of herself. She's scared to trust that what she wants is real. It's another thing he hadn't really gotten all that well before, but now? Now that David's in his mom's life? He does get it - he gets _her_ \- a little bit more.

"You do, right?" he prods, shoving his elbow into her bony ribs. "You need me. What the hell would you do without me?"

"Well, I'd be out a hiding place from the crying, for sure," she acknowledges. "And I definitely wouldn't have someone to borrow comic books from."

"Did I say you could borrow them?" he asks her, raising an eyebrow. "I don't seem to remember saying that."

Jules hugs the comic book to her chest. "It was implied."

Of _course_ it was.

"Well, don't start with that one," he tells her, opening a drawer in his nightstand and pulling out an older stack. The way her eyes go wide with absolute delight is equal parts hilarious and really stinking cute. She drops the lone comic in her hands and reaches excitedly for the pile he's got. He pulls them away before she can take them though. "Two promises before I give you these," he insists.

Wariness etches itself across her features in an instant. "Go on…" she allows.

"One, you swiped these from my room," he tells her. "I, in no way, shape or form, gave you these or condone the corruption of your little, innocent mind."

"I have no idea what 'condone' means," she tells him with a slightly sardonic air, "but I'll agree to the rest. What's the other condition?"

"You don't go all 'comic canon' crazy on me," he says very seriously. "The TV show was badass, too - even if it is ancient now - and it's not the same, but it doesn't have to be."

She completely misses the point of what he's saying when she blurts, "Can we watch the show, too?!" So, bringing that up was a truly terrible idea.

"Uh, maybe after you finish all the comics," he says. That'll take at least a few years, right? "For now, just start with these, okay?"

"Yes!" she declares happily, drawing out the word as she takes the pile from his hands with grabby fingers and stares at them like a hard-won prize.

"How about you go stash those in your room before your mom finds them," he advises. She's already on her feet and heading to the door, cradling them like they're made of gold. To her, they probably are. He stands up, shutting his bedside drawer before grabbing his abandoned headphones. "I'm gonna go get a snack, now that the crying has died down, and see if Ellie wants to play fairies."

The way Jules' face recoils at that idea is picture-perfect and William wishes he had a camera on him to capture the moment.

"I'm pretty sure I just heard you wrong," Jules says, sounding a little disgusted.

"Nope," he counters, shoving his hands in his pockets. "If gaining a new stepdad and really, truly obnoxious stepsister has taught me anything, it's that I need to appreciate you and Ellie and Nate more. I don't get a lot of time with you guys."

Jules chews on her lip as she thinks that over. She's all reluctance as she asks, "So you're gonna play _fairies_ with Ellie?"

"I thought I'd let her be fairy president up in the treehouse," he replies, "and attack her kingdom with the hose." He's only got like an hour before practice anyhow and he feels like he's barely even seen Ellie since he got here.

She's intrigued, and she clearly doesn't know what to do about that. And he's well aware she won't outright admit that it sounds like fun.

After a moment, she says, "Maybe I could join. I could be a zombie fairy and attack the treehouse, too."

William grins. "Sure," he says, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "As long as you don't tell your sister what zombies are, I think that's a really good idea."


	7. October 2014

"Where are we putting this?"

Felicity's voice precedes her, echoing from the stairs just before she appears in the arch-shaped entryway to the kitchen. She goes for gentle nonchalance, but the thing she's holding doesn't let her. It's by far the ugliest vase he's ever seen in his life, all gold flakes and tiny ornaments and what looks like a _marble_ base, and judging by her face, she agrees. He knows it's not as light as appears just by how she's holding it, the muscles in her arms straining.

Oliver sets down the box of pots and pans he's holding on the kitchen counter as he says, "Uh, how about…" but that's all he's got. Because he wants to say nowhere. Because it's _hideous_.

It's one of the dozens of housewarming gifts they've been receiving since they officially signed off on the their new home. It'd meant about six weeks of deliveries to the manor, much to his mother's chagrin. Oliver had tried going down the route of, ' _Well, if you hadn't announced it to everyone you know…'_ but she'd shot him a withering look that'd shut him right up.

Most of the gifts weren't that bad - a few he even liked - but this one…

Well, it was special, because it was the first one delivered directly to them, to their new place that was all their own, to the very place that had sparked a series of arguments that had lasted _weeks_.

It would be a lie to say that picking their home as a couple was their first argument, but it'd certainly been the longest - so far. When they'd first started discussing moving in with each other - in quiet early morning murmurs wrapped up in Felicity's quilt and over hurried lunches at his mother's new office and post-Arrow duty back in the lair after a nightly patrol of the city - they hadn't been able to agree on even the most fundamental things. Oliver had secretly wondered if it was a sign of how ready they both were to venture into the next phase of their lives. He could not be happier about their fast-growing family, but it _is_ fast. They haven't had the time to build their dreams together before watching it all materialize in front of them. And, sometimes he finds they have different pictures in their heads for what their future looks like.

It hadn't helped that they had vastly different ideas of what kind of house they should settle in. For Oliver's part, he'd envisioned a home like the ARGUS safe house in Ivy Town, something bright and airy with a big backyard for the kids to run around in. The kind of place with neighborhood barbeques and Fourth of July celebrations that everyone pitched in for.

Felicity had wanted a loft, somewhere close to their night and day jobs that allowed an easy commute and boasted lots of security.

" _Six-bedroom lofts aren't exactly easy to find, Felicity."_

 _Her jaw had dropped, eyes widening. "Six?"_

That had opened a whole other door that he quickly learned she hadn't been all that prepared for. Being pregnant with their first child and knowing about his six-year-old son has been more than enough to handle. His pointing out the grand total of _four_ kids in their future had been a bit much for her to process, even if one of them was going to be Ellie.

 _Ellie_.

It occurs to Oliver that they haven't talked about her in… He furrows his brow. He can't remember the last time they talked about her. For the first few weeks after she'd left, they hadn't spoken of her much. She was never far from their thoughts, but it'd been too much to bring her up. But when Oliver had woken up one night to his girlfriend crying on the floor at the foot of the bed, holding the elephant Ellie had picked out for the baby, he'd made a point of bringing up their absent daughter. It became a habit for a while, each of them talking about something that they both remembered. At first, it'd only been tears - the hole she left _aches_ \- but it had eventually given way to laughter and smiles, to fondness through a haze of pain.

In the rush and excitement of the move, of organizing everything, of buying new furniture and working around both their nighttime activities and day jobs - which included the slow rebuild of QC, which they were toying with restructuring under a new name - that habit had gotten lost.

Guilt cuts through his gut, just as quickly as regret does. They'll get to see Ellie again in a few years, but it's so important that they keep some part of her alive until then. A few years is a long time, and letting some of those precious moments go of that perfect little four-year-old?

The thought is unbearable.

He hadn't realized how much he'd come to depend on those conversations himself. It hadn't just been for Felicity.

But it's understandable. One of the things they always harped on was that they needed to stay in the now, not let the past or the future take over.

And the _now_ had definitely been taking precedence.

 _Their home._

When Oliver had found this place, he'd known immediately it was the one, the perfect home for them. He hadn't blinked an eye at the sixteen million dollar price tag - it is deadset in the middle of downtown Starling City, and it had been fully renovated and updated, _and_ it had six bedrooms - but Felicity had, to the point where she she'd been about to put her foot down and say, ' _No.'_

The turning point had been seeing Jules for the first time at that initial ultrasound. Like somehow she'd become more real when they finally _saw_ her on that little screen. It had nothing on when Oliver had first felt her move, when he'd felt that gentle press against his palm, but that day in the doctor's had sealed their future at their new home.

They bought it the next day. When their realtor had left them alone in the backyard to go call and start the paperwork, he'd wrapped his arms around Felicity's expanding belly and described to her the new fairy castle he was going to build in the large oak tree growing in the corner of the small space. It'd earned him more than a few happy tears as he talked about it being exactly like the one at the manor, with minor changes to accommodate the fairies better. Since Tommy could only be there to help in spirit this time, he'd already talked to Digg about giving him a hand with the construction. After all, both their girls will probably use it together.

And eventually so will Ellie.

The thought makes him smile. He can still hear her voice if he concentrates hard enough.

" _I'm not a princess. I'm president. That's way more important than a princess."_

"I mean," Felicity continues, pulling Oliver from his thoughts. His eyes refocus on her as she holds the vase out, eyeballing it. "I know where _I_ want to put it, but Walter sent it for us and I feel like the dumpster isn't an option."

With a sigh, she turns and sets it down, giving him a full view of her ass.

God, she's gorgeous. He doesn't even want to answer her as she stands back up, wiping her hands. He just wants to stare. At five months pregnant, her baby bump is easily visible, leaving her body rich with new curves that take his breath away. He _loves_ it. There's something about the visual evidence of his child growing inside of her that amplifies _everything_.

It makes him want to send everyone else home immediately, even if they are helping them move in.

Felicity looks back to him for his thoughts and the second she sees his face, she shakes her head with a drawn out. "Oh, no." She crosses her arms, which only serves to highlight precisely how much her breasts have swelled thanks to her pregnancy, as well as emphasizing just how low her top is cut. It does absolutely nothing to tamp down his attentions. "I know that look, mister. There's time for that later. Right now, I need to know where to put the world's ugliest vase from arguably the nicest relative we have."

Oliver chuckles, closing the distance between. "Your mom is pretty nice," he counters, raising an eyebrow at her in challenge. When he reaches her, he skims his hands down her sides.

She wrinkles her nose in reply even as her arms loosen their hold on herself. He wraps his hands around her ribs - she loves his hands, something she made very clear the night before. The move makes her shiver, goosebumps erupting across her skin at his touch.

"Sure," Felicity breathes, "if you don't mind all your friends asking if she's seeing anyone and her being flattered by it."

"Okay," he agrees, sliding his hands to her hips. He grips them and tugs her forward until her pelvis is pressed as firmly against his as they can manage with her growing midsection. "So, maybe 'nice' isn't quite the right word."

She snorts. "You think?" Her voice might be sharp, but her body isn't. She's all soft curves that welcome his touch and lean into him. It never ceases to amaze him that he gets to have this, that he gets to _keep_ this. He hopes it always does. He drops a soft kiss on her shoulder, slowly making his way up to her neck. " _Oliver_ …"

It's barely half a protest and one he doesn't pay any mind to.

"Yes?" Oliver asks, following her throat up to her jaw, all the way up her mouth. He hovers just a few inches from her lips as his hands slide down to cup her ass.

"Oh my god, you're incorrigible," she laughs, placing her free hand on his chest. She pushes very, very lightly. So lightly that it might actually be just her copping a feel. She likes to do that, he's discovered, touch him like she's not doing it just because she _wants_ to touch him. Just because she can.

"Well," he starts, his hands massaging her backside _thoroughly_. It makes her sigh, her eyes fluttering at the delicious sensation. "We do have a _lot_ of rooms to christen." Oliver gives her a grin, one he knows will make her melt. "Maybe I'm just being proactive."

"I like that you're being proactive," Felicity replies, licking her lips. That was a wrong move, because now he doesn't care if someone else is in the house or not. "But _later_."

Oliver frowns, his grimace damn near petulant as he whispers, "Felicity…"

"Digg and Lyla - who is possibly ready to give birth in our new living room, by the way - they're both here," she reminds him. "And they're unpacking _our_ stuff for us. So is Roy. And our mothers are coming over - together - in like an hour."

Alright, so that last point actually dissuades him some. She must see it because she laughs and shakes her head before inching away. She stretches, the move triggering a yawn as she tries to provide a bit of relief to her stiff back.

He reaches for her again - it's with concern this time, he _swears_ it. "How are you feeling?"

Felicity isn't buying it though. She gives him a sharp look and keeps a little distance between them anyhow. History tells him it's probably more to dissuade herself than him. When it comes to keeping their hands to themselves, willpower isn't exactly a strong suit for them. And, much to his delight and her chagrin, the hormones flooding her body have made that about a hundred times worse on her end.

"I'll be fine," she replies. "Just a bit achy. You keep those hands to yourself." He gives her an exaggerated pout that makes her smile - it never fails to take his breath away. "For now," she adds. "Definitely just for now. Later I would very much like those hands on me. On my back, I mean. Or, well… other places might be good, too…"

He honestly can't resist. Oliver licks his lips as he looks her up and down, savoring the way she physically shivers under his gaze, before he winks at her. It's playing dirty and he knows it, but he's not the least bit sorry. Resolve is apparently the word of the day for Felicity, though, because she doesn't cave at all, taking another step backwards. She picks up the ugly vase again, brandishing it like it's some kind of a weapon.

"The vase," she says again, glancing down at the thing. Now that he's closer, he sees it's gilded with actual little gold cherubs all over it. _God_ , Oliver thought Walter had better taste than this thing. He's sure Felicity is thinking the same exact thing. "What do we do with it?" she asks.

Oliver shrugs. "I don't know… Give it to charity?"

"Charity?" Felicity furrows her brow in wariness as she thinks that over. "How much is this monstrosity worth exactly?"

He glances at it. Ugly as it is, he knows Walter wouldn't send a cheap gift and Oliver's paid enough attention at charity auctions over the years to have a relatively solid ballpark figure in mind.

With a distasteful grimace - he's seen worse go for much higher than the number in his head - he tells her, "I'm pretty sure you don't want to know."

She looks down at it with a wrinkled nose, like she's trying to figure out what in the world makes this ornate piece of ceramic crap worthy anything at all. He agrees, and not just because it's not to either of their tastes. Still, he's pretty damn sure he knows what that ugly vase might fetch at auction.

"So, probably not Goodwill, then?" Felicity ventures. She makes a face at him. "Are you sure? Like really, _really_ sure? 'Cause this thing seems kitschy. Maybe he likes us less than we thought."

"Knowing Walter?" Oliver stares at the vase."I'm guessing that's worth about ten thousand or so."

" _Dollars?"_ The blood drains from her face and her eyes bug out at him. When she looks at the vase again, it's with an entirely different appreciation… or more like it's about to bite her. Or fearful that she might drop the ugly thing. Felicity holds it further away from her body, as if that will help her keep it safe. "You're telling me that Walter gave a _ten thousand dollar vase_ to a couple expecting a baby?" she asks, her voice rising with incredulity. "Is that some kind of sick joke? Who _does_ that?"

"Probably someone with a lot of money who's never had a baby in the house," Oliver replies. She makes a small squeaky sound and Oliver steps forward, taking the vase gently from her clenched hands and setting it in the corner of the kitchen counter. "How about I just put this… somewhere safe."

"How about _in_ a safe," she says, wiping her hands on her thighs, giving the vase an unreadable look. "How can _anyone_ think that's a good idea? Not only does it make my eyes scream, it's just… Can you imagine if it breaks? Oh my god, should we get it insured?"

Oliver has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at that as he rests his hands on her hips again. "No," he replies, "we don't need to get it insured. Trust me. You don't want to know what some of the stuff at my mom's costs."

Felicity shuts her eyes with a horrified shudder, probably because she'd spent so much time there recently. "No, I really do not." The thought does nothing to appease her regarding this particular thing, though. If anything, it only encourages her. "But if we don't-"

"Why don't I talk to Walter?" he interrupts. "Let him know that we're worried about how that vase would fare with the baby around and ask him if he's okay with us maybe donating it to the Glades Children's Foundation. For their auction next month?"

The tension melts right out of her shoulders at that, and she nods. It's downright silly how much this was suddenly worrying her, considering they could more than afford to replace it if anything did happen to it. But he knows what she's saying and why.

Still.

"Stop stressing, honey," Oliver says softly. "We've got enough other things going on right now. You don't need to worry about a vase."

"But it's from _Walter_ ," Felicity counters. "And I really, really like Walter. And that thing is worth more than my car."

Oliver chuckles, pulling her closer. The mention of her car reminds him that they really do need to replace that thing before the baby comes, but that's a conversation for another time.

"Did you find them?"

It's Lyla's voice coming from the doorway.

She's _huge_ , past her due date by a week now. Oliver feels more than a little guilty for allowing her to help them settle in, but when he'd started to suggest she sit this one out, Diggle had shaken his head furiously and cut him off. Lyla's apparently _nesting_ , and John can't possibly stand her reorganizing their closets again. Plus, Lyla's not the sort to sit anything out. Ever.

"Not yet," Felicity replies. "I got distracted by the world's ugliest ceramic being worth as much as my child's first semester of college."

"Right," Lyla says blankly, her eyes drifting down to where Oliver's hands grip Felicity's hips. "That's what you got distracted by."

Felicity follows her gaze and it takes her a second to realize she's gravitated back to Oliver's hands again.

This is sort of a problem with them, it turns out. A really, really great problem, one he hopes always plagues them. But she's so damn determined today. Felicity removes one of his hands and turns, holding it away from her body. It's actually pretty fine because it lets him sidle up next to her and rest his other hand on her stomach. Their daughter is kicking, again. It seems like she's _always_ kicking, something he positively loves. Since she started a couple of weeks ago, she hasn't stopped. Felicity fully blames him for their little girl's activity level. She's probably not wrong.

"I will be less distracted," Felicity vows. "By _anything_." She gives him a pointed look. "Because I'm on a mission. Or at least I was before the whole vase thing and then the _you_ thing." Felicity waves her hand at him. "But no more. We're on a mission."

"For what?" Oliver asks.

"Pretzels," Lyla tells him and when he gives her a confused look, she returns it with a ' _you're missing the obvious, let me show you how'_ look.

She's not too far off base considering both pregnant women have been all about pretzels for months now. Lyla's taken to dipping hers in ketchup with horseradish sauce while Felicity uses the stalest pretzels she can find as a spoon for strawberry ice cream. Oliver's hard pressed to decide which option is stranger - and just downright disgusting - but he and Digg have a pact not to mention that to either of the women. Because they both know better.

He did not, however, know enough to save either of them a bag of pretzels and right now that seems like it's likely to be the bigger issue.

"Uh… we're out," he tells them.

The look they both shoot him is borderline _violent_ , so much so that it actually gives him pause. He's faced down the most dangerous criminals Starling City has to offer, but a pregnant Felicity and Lyla being denied pretzels is, well… _terrifying_.

"Say that again?" Felicity says. Her voice is quiet, but the steel hidden in the words is not.

"Well," he starts. "Roy was hungry and…"

"And you _gave him my pretzels_?" Felicity asks incredulously.

Oliver takes an instinctive step away from her. "He might have some left?"

"What?" Diggle's voice echoes from somewhere upstairs. One second he's not there and then the next he is, thundering down the steps only to emerge behind Lyla with disbelieving eyes aimed right at Oliver. "Did you lose your damned fool mind? You gave away their pretzels? What's wrong with you?"

All Oliver can manage is opening his mouth, but nothing comes out. He has no defense against furious, hungry, pregnant women and a husband who damn well knows better than him.

"I'll…" Oliver stands up straight. "It's not a problem. I'll text your mom and ask her to grab some on her way over."

"Wait," Felicity interjects, eyebrows shooting up. "You'll _text my mom_?" Okay, so she didn't know about that and maybe he should have brought it up. This is not the time for him to be pointing out that it's not something worth freaking out about - they're practically family now, after all - so all he can manage is to gulp at her bewildered look. "You text my mom?"

"Well… yeah," he replies. "She sends those cute little faces." Oliver looks to Digg. He's less than no help, putting his hands up and stepping back as he shakes his head in clear disappointment. "What? It would be rude not to respond."

Felicity balks. " _Emojis_?"

"There's, like, smiley faces and baby bottles and hearts… Do you think there's one of a pretzel?"

"Oh my god," Digg breathes out, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. "This just keeps getting worse."

"Do I… _No_ ," Felicity tells him in utter disbelief. "No, I do not think there's an _emoji_ of a _pretzel_ , Oliver. And why are you texting my mother instead of your own?"

"Can you see my mom using emojis?" he asks. It's a valid point. His mother's texts are more like business memos than anything else. She'd use bullet points if she could. And that is, once again, _not helping_. The term 'hulking out' is pretty applicable to his girlfriend right now. There's a visible hormonal rage simmering just beneath the surface of her pretzelless pregnant facade. Oliver puts his hands up, quickly adding, "Okay, okay. How about I run up to the store on the corner and buy more pretzels. Alright?"

Felicity watches him - _cautiously_ , almost like she's weighing if that's good enough. She doesn't back up as he steps forward, though, which is good, and she doesn't sharpen her glare as he smooths his hands down her shoulders. He'll take it. Pregnancy does strange things to her moods and he really _did_ mess up with the pretzels, so he's sort of grateful that she's not crying uncontrollably at the moment.

"And ice cream?" she ventures.

"I didn't give that away," he replies, a little too smartly. When her eyes narrow at him, he's quick to finish, "But I'll grab more. Lots of it," he promises. "Strawberry. Entirely for you."

Lyla clears her throat from a few feet away.

"And Lyla, too, if you choose to share it," Oliver amends, tilting his head in the other woman's direction, who seems placated by the gesture.

That's the final piece that he needed. Felicity sighs, her face settling into a soft smile as she hums appreciatively under her breath. "Okay," she says, cupping his cheek, letting her fingers drag through the scruff. He leans into her touch, still watching her a little cautiously. "You're forgiven. But I want those little pretzels with the cheese in the middle."

He tries not to pull a face at that - those are so horribly bad for every living thing on the planet. He clearly does a pretty good job of it, because she doesn't react. Instead, Oliver nods with a pinched smile. "Done."

Felicity grins, scrunching her nose at him in happy approval before stepping back to Lyla's side. "We'll go work on some more boxes until you get back."

"Okay," he replies, shaking his head a little at how much she has him tied around her finger. He'd go the ends of the earth for her, to save her life or to get her those nasty cheese pretzel things. Either one. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Where will you guys be?"

"El-" She cuts herself off, the smile instantly dropping from her face just as Oliver's heart slams into the floor. For a second, she looks lost as she turns away from him. "I mean the guest room. We'll be in the guest room."

She can't say their daughter's name.

Oliver has to bite his tongue from cursing out loud as the mood in the room _shifts_. It's no secret to anyone that he's fared a bit better than her, and the fact that they've stopped their nightly conversations - for _weeks_ now - makes him want to throw something. They're busy, yes, but he should have made the time.

"Felicity," he says, taking a step towards her.

She purses her lips, shaking her head, warding him off. He stops, because that's what she's asking him to do, but he doesn't back off. She hides her pain so damned well, even from him, but there are moments where it's close enough to the surface that he can see the cracks in her facade as they splinter and threaten to break apart entirely.

She still buys two of things, sometimes. She thinks he doesn't know, but he does. Two baby blankets, two of those sets of wall decals she'd liked, two extra fluffy identical stuffed animals. She'd bought a beautiful lamp that looks like a fairy kingdom, but she hadn't put it in the nursery. No… it's in the closet of the 'guest room.'

" _It's a spare,"_ she'd said quietly before hurrying away.

It's Ellie's. He knows that. He has known it, from the moment he'd seen it, but they don't talk about it. And it's not because of Felicity's hesitance, or for her sake. It's because he _likes_ that she does that. It's stupid and goddamn irrational, but the idea of her planning for Ellie warms a spot in his chest that had carved itself out for Ellie already. He can't let her go anymore than Felicity can, and seeing his girlfriend doing that, knowing she's planning for her - for their second daughter - it makes it more _real_.

He'd needed those nightly conversations just as badly as she had, albeit for different reasons. But they'd been dropping the ball, and now…

Oliver can't escape the feeling that their lives are missing a vital piece, and that gaping hole won't be filled until Ellie comes back… and that's _okay_. Because Ellie _is_ missing, but they have to take solace in the knowledge that they'll get her back. And it doesn't mean they can't find happiness in the moments in-between. It doesn't mean that it _all_ needs to be sorrow and loss.

And it isn't.

Moving in together - into this gorgeous home where they'll raise their family together - it makes him _happy_. Coming home to her, _with_ her, every day is positively joyful. And the new baby? Oh, he could not be more excited about their daughter if he tried, their little Julianna. Their Julie-bug.

He doesn't feel guilty about that, about wanting this little girl so much… but he's pretty sure Felicity does.

"Can you guys give us a minute?" he asks, glancing toward Digg.

The other man gives him a quick nod before grabbing his girlfriend's hand as they leave the room.

Oliver's already heading for Felicity, who gives him a wary look. She shakes her head, saying his name slowly, trying to ward off the conversation they both know will follow before moving to leave, but he stops her.

"Hang on a sec," Oliver says, taking her hands in his. He rubs his thumbs across the delicate skin of her knuckles. He's not sure whose benefit that's for, but it brings them together, makes them feel joined and present, grounded in the now. They both clearly need that.

"Work on Ellie's room," he says, filling in the blanks for her… and saying the name aloud for the first time in weeks.

Felicity makes a mournful noise, biting her lips together between her teeth as her fingers tighten against his. She stares at their hands, and the way she shakes her head - the blatant denial of the entire conversation - cuts him to the bone.

"You can call it that," he whispers, smoothing his thumbs across the backs of her hands. "That's what it is. That's why we bought this house. For _all_ our kids. It's Ellie's room. So put up the wall decals you bought. Buy another crib and rocking chair. Make it _hers_."

Felicity doesn't respond, and it's almost like she can't. God, it's worse than he'd thought. How naive of him to assume that just because they'd had the conversations at one point, that they'd _stick_ , that they'd be _enough_. Guilt and sorrow plunge his chest into ice as he tugs on her hands.

"Hey," he says, trying to get her attention. His voice is uneven with tears he didn't even realize were filling his eyes. He blinks them away when she won't look at him. "Hey, I thought we agreed that she didn't want you to have Sad Eyes because she's not here."

That makes her physically cringe, her face crumpling in pain. She takes a ragged breath, one he's pretty sure is meant to be fortifying, but it backfires, turning into a sob.

"Oh, Felicity," Oliver breathes, pulling her close. He wraps her up, as tight as he dares, holding her close, one hand cupping the back of her head as he presses a kiss to her temple.

She keeps hiding this from him, over and over - from him, from everyone. It's only been a few months since Ellie left them, but it might as well have been years for the emotional turmoil it put them through. Especially her. She bears this in silence, suffering the loss of their child in secret because she can't - or won't - share it.

Not even with him.

Oliver closes his eyes. That has to be their number one priority, if they're going to get through this - they can't do this alone, none of it. Which means they need to talk, every night - or at the very least every other night. Both to keep her memory alive, but also to keep the memories from eating away at their insides like acid.

"I miss her," Felicity confesses.

Each word has such weight to it, so much emphasis that they feel like body blows. When she looks up, there are tears dripping from her eyes over her cheeks, a quiet bone-deep sorrow lining her face.

He nods back at her solemnly, certain he's mirroring the same feelings right back at her.

"Me, too," he replies, his voice thin with his own grief.

"But you…" She swallows hard, and he gives her a moment to gather her thoughts. "You're handling it so much better than I am."

"I am not," he counters with a wry laugh that sounds every bit as painful as it is. "I'm trying, Felicity. Just because we haven't been talking about it - about her - like we used to, doesn't mean she hasn't still been there. God, she's _always_ there. I still wake up looking for her pillow castle, and make too many waffles, or I go to tell her something, forgetting she's not _here_. I miss her, too. So… so very much. But… I don't think pretending she was never here is the way we move forward."

Felicity stares back at him, her lips trembling with the emotion shining in her eyes.

They've come so far together, as individuals, as a couple, but he's met his future self and he knows full well that they aren't the parents Ellie grows up with. Not yet. But they're getting there.

"I think we need to start talking about her again," he tells her. The idea pains her and he pushes even harder. "I think we _need_ to, Felicity. I think… I think that's how we heal and how we become the kind of parents she deserves. And the kind of parents Julianna deserves."

"I don't know how to do this," she admits in a quiet voice. "It's like a part of me is missing and people don't even understand-"

"I do," he interrupts. "I understand."

"You do," she agrees. "I know you do. But to the outside world..."

"Forget them," he advises. "You don't owe the rest of the world a damn thing. How you feel about Ellie - how _we_ feel about Ellie - that's as private as it gets. So if you need to fake a smile and pretend everything is fine when you're at my mom's office or a fundraiser or _whatever_ , that's fine. But not here. Not with me. And definitely not when you're alone. You're allowed to miss her, honey… But if you bottle that up, it's going to tear you apart."

Felicity nods, her hands loosening their grip on his hands. She slides them up his forearms. It's a move of both support and reliance, and he's so grateful that she's making the intentional choice to lean on him, to allow them to lean on each other. They have been to hell and back in so many ways, but in the grand scheme, they've only been at this for a handful of months. The years of damage and trauma in both their lives haven't dissipated in the least, so the fact that she's doing that is _huge_.

Oliver reciprocates, cupping her elbows.

"I don't know how to do that, though," she whispers, looking up at him like he has more answers than he does. "How do I… stop bottling it up?"

"Maybe… maybe instead of talking about her at night like we used to, you just tell me when you miss her," he replies. "Whenever it comes up. If you remember something funny she did, or if I do, or we think of something sad or… whatever. We just tell each other. And maybe sometimes we just cry together and hold on to each other. And we set up her room," he adds definitively. "Because we both need the reminder that she's coming back to us, even if it's going to take a few years for her to get here."

"What if…" she starts before cutting herself off with a shake of her head and agreeing, "Okay."

Her fingers shake against his arms and he rests his hands on her hips, giving her as much stability as he can right now. And if he's leaning on her a little bit, too, that's okay.

"Oliver?" Felicity's hazel eyes flood with tears as she looks up at him and it breaks his heart. "I really, _really_ miss her," she confesses, her voice raw and her face pleading, begging him to help. " _I miss her_."

"Me too," Oliver replies, wrapping his arms around her again. "Me too." He presses his lips to her temple for a long moment before resting his forehead against hers. It's the only kind of help he can offer, the reassurance that she's not alone in this, that he's right there with her and that he understands. "I miss her, too, Felicity."

The permission to feel all over again hits her _hard,_ and it's like the floodgates open.

Felicity curls against him, seeking the security and warmth he has to offer her. The overactive little girl taking up residence in her womb right now makes things slightly awkward, but they manage. A very big part of him is grateful to feel _this_ child kick against him. She is not Ellie, but he has no doubt they will love her every bit as much and he's so eager to build their family together that he can scarcely wait for their little girl's arrival.

It takes several minutes, but Felicity's sobs eventually slow.

He's dimly aware that his shirt is soaked. He should probably put on a new one before running up to get her pretzels, which means _finding_ a new one, and the chances of that are slim. Their room hasn't exactly been a top priority. William's coming for a visit next weekend - his first to Starling City - and Oliver's been completely focused on the common areas of their home as his son's eventual bedroom. For if and when Samantha ever lets him stay the night.

Oliver rubs his hand up and down Felicity's back, his fingers tracing her spine.

"You know what I think Ellie's doing right now?" he asks. She freezes against him but doesn't look up, her body tense with anticipation. "Nate's got to be about four months old her time, right? You're probably mushing up carrots for him and she's warning him how awful they are."

Despite herself, Felicity laughs at that. "I have never met anyone who hates carrots as much as Ellie."

He hums in agreement and she pulls back, giving him a small, but grateful smile, knowing what he's doing. Oliver brushes her hair back from her face. "She'll be a great sister," he says. "She'll warn Nate and then he'll probably just throw it all over you and Ellie will apologize because she'll be sure it was her fault."

Felicity's eyes are watery, but she grins at that and he immediately knows this is a new thing they will do. They'll theorize what Ellie's doing in her own time, make up stories about her life, and comfort themselves with the knowledge that she's home, she's safe and she has an amazing future ahead of her.

They've already seen the proof of it, after all.

"I can't wait," she replies.

"It'll be here sooner than you think," he promises. "But for now… pretzels."

"Pretzels," she agrees, stepping back. She wipes at her cheeks, but mostly because they're wet. She doesn't try to hide the evidence of her tears, which feels like progress. "We'll be working on Ellie's room when you get back."

"Good," Oliver says before kissing her softly.

It's foundational, fortifying, a kiss of reassurance and strength that they only find when they're together. They are so lucky to have each other in this. He can't even imagine going through it with anyone else.

"I love you," she says when they part, sliding her hands down either side of his neck. He knows it by now. They say it frequently, but it still does something to him when he hears those words from her lips. And he knows the same is true for her.

"I love you, too," he replies. "And I love Ellie. And…" He squats down to belly level and kisses the swell of her stomach. "I love our little Julie-bug."

Felicity smiles down at him, sifting her fingers through his hair. "I'm still a little partial to Jules-bug."

"Sounds like a car," Oliver says, the same argument he's been using since she brought up the sudden preference. He looks back at her stomach. "Doesn't it, Julie-bug?"

The baby thumps in response, right where his left hand rests bracketing Felicity's stomach. It makes Oliver grin up at his girlfriend, because Jules clearly agrees.

Felicity rolls her eyes "Maybe she's trying to hit you for calling her Julie-bug. That might not be a happy kick, mister. You never know."

Oliver grins, kissing her stomach right where the little bump had come from before standing up. "At this point I think they're all just 'It's confined in here and I want more room to move' kicks."

" _She_ thinks there's no room?" Felicity scoffs. "She should try being my bladder sometime. Talk about confined."

He chuckles and kisses her again, just as softly as before but he doesn't let himself linger. Not this time.

"Cheese filled pretzels and strawberry ice cream?" he asks again. It's a testament to how routine this has gotten that he doesn't pull a face at the combination anymore.

"And ketchup and horseradish sauce," Felicity agrees. "For Lyla, not me. That's just gross."

He's definitely letting that one slide right by. Not taking that bait.

"Okay," Oliver agrees, grabbing his keys off the counter where they sit next to the world's ugliest vase. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Oliver?" she asks as he turns to go. He pauses and looks back. "Thank you."

Her voice is heavier with meaning than could possibly apply to a midday run for pretzels.

"You never have to thank me, Felicity," he tells her. "Not for any of this."

"I know," she agrees, a small smile spreading out across her lips again. "That's why I want to."

He doesn't answer in words, allowing his eyes to do that for him.

She's always read him clearly and he knows she sees his appreciation. He watches her a long beat before turning and leaving. He passes Diggle and Lyla in the living room with a nod as he heads out the front door in search of the sustenance Felicity needs as they put the basics of their new home together in place.


	8. January 2023

A/N - We expect this to be a somewhat divisive chapter of our story. In all likelihood, some people will love it and some will hate it. We land on the former side, ourselves, but Jules and Felicity are a complicated relationship that is definitely hard at times. All of these glimpses into their lives are just that - glimpses - and we are building a bigger picture here and the nuances of these relationships are key to that.

Thank you to Angie and Sarah this chapter especially. It's because of them that this exists. And thanks to Lizzie and Jaimie as always for their beta work.

Side note, because quite a few people mentioned it last chapter... many nicer cribs convert not only to a toddler bed but later a full sized bed. I forget not all of them do, as that's the type my kids had (because I was an idiot and thought that was a necessity in my hormone crazed pregnant mind). That's what I'd envisioned and why there separate cribs for the kids.

Okay then... without further adieu... enjoy!  
Janis (and Bre)

* * *

 **January 2023**

When the words start to blur together, Felicity's shoulders fall with a groan. She leans back, making her old leather chair creak as she shoves her fingers under her glasses to rub her eyes until she sees stars.

She's _tired_. Like the-batteries-cannot-be-recharged kind of tired. Like coffee-cannot-save-you kind of tired.

Exhaustion is nothing new to her.

It's practically been a bosom buddy her entire life, whether it was when it was more self-inflicted in school, or when she started working with Oliver all those years ago and learned what it was like to have two full-time jobs, or when Jules was born and she discovered what it was like to have a newborn and a vigilante _and_ postpartum depression in the house with her. _That_ had been a learning curve. Add another lively little girl into the mix, that'd been another learning curve. And then add into all of that running a Fortune 500 company and still helping guide her husband through the city streets?

She knows exhaustion. Scratch that - she _thought_ she knew exhaustion.

Nate's changed things.

Infants are a handful, but it's not just that. It's Nate himself. Her little boy clings to her in a way that she had not anticipated at all. He cries when she puts him down, sobs when she leaves the room, wails when he wakes up alone. She'd chalked it up to some infancy quirk, comforting herself by insisting it was a short term phase, except summer gave way to fall, and now winter has arrived and he's only become more desperate for her attention.

Oliver says it's sweet. He has a million and one photos of her passed out in a rocking chair with Nate happily curled up against her shoulder as he sucks his thumb. Most of the time she agrees, and maybe if it was just him, she'd wholeheartedly agree. But they also have their two growing daughters in the mix. Jules still needs help with her homework, whether she likes to admit to it or not, and Ellie still wants to help read her own bedtime stories. On top of that, there's still their nighttime activities. The not fun kind.

If she had to choose a word, overwhelming would be it. Most days it's fine, but some days… some days it's not.

Like today.

Moira and Walter reconnected, which was both really, _really_ unexpected and wonderful. But it also meant that Moira wasn't as readily available to help with the workload at QI or be the part-time babysitter Felicity and Oliver had come to desperately rely on. That would have been fine, except the state legislature had been called into session, which meant Oliver - a freshman representative with very little clout thus far - wasn't around as much either. Now, with Nate on the verge of crawling, Ellie uncharacteristically crabby because her dad is gone more than usual and Jules testing her limits at every opportunity, Felicity has suddenly been thrust back into the corporate world full-time while juggling all three kids on her own for the bulk of the day.

Thank _god_ Queen Incorporated has an onsite daycare. It's the only thing keeping her sanity in check because at least the kids are _here_ , at work, safe and sound where she can get stuff done.

Felicity glances at the time and winces. She really wants to finish this report, but it's getting late, too late to get much more done today. Jules should be making her way over from her dance class, which means Felicity will be getting a call any minute now. The daycare is open late at QI, but Felicity gave herself a hard boundary that when Jules got done with her day, so was Felicity.

It has to be that way. Jules needs that and so does she. After work and dance classes and daycare is the only time she really gets to spend time with the kids most days, even if it's spent rushing home, thanking Raisa a million times over for cooking them dinner before she helps Felicity to herd the kids all into baths and off to bed. Usually Oliver's there to help, but these days he's getting home later and later, right around the time he suits up and hits the streets. She barely has time for a nap between the kids going to sleep and Oliver needing her on the comms, much less _more_ work.

No call yet, though, which means she can at least get through the next section. Felicity sighs before taking a gulp of her now-cold coffee - it's fortifying, even if the acrid taste makes her cringe - and gets back to work.

When her phone finally rings, she's finished both the section she wanted to and even more on top of that.

"Yes," Felicity breathes, doing a half-hearted fist pump into the air before picking up her phone. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Queen?" the voice greets. As if it would be anyone else answering the private line.

"Hi, Miss Susan," Felicity greets with a sigh. She winces at that. This woman is her employee, but Jules and Ellie have both called her 'Miss Susan' virtually their whole lives and as juvenile as it makes Felicity feel, it's not a habit she can break. "I'll be right down."

"Mrs. Queen…" Susan starts.

Felicity sits up, something in the woman's tone setting off every maternal sense of worry she has. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as a wash of cold fear slithers down her spine. "What's wrong?" she asks, the words coming out in sharp bursts.

"Ma'am, is Julianna with you?"

Everything inside her freezes with an abject terror that makes her bones feel like they're made of ice. And just as quickly, the reality of what Susan is saying hits her. Felicity stands up so fast she knocks her old creaky chair over. "Are you telling me she's not there?" she asks, her mind already racing ahead of her, already thinking about everything that could mean.

 _Oh god._

"We expected her after dance class as usual, but she didn't show up," Susan replies. "I called her studio already and they said she left on time. Her teacher watched her cross the street. I was hoping she'd just gone up to your office."

The only thing that comes close to the sense of primal fear and panic that swamps Felicity is all the danger they'd faced all those years ago with the _first_ Ellie. But that was different. Because at least then she _knew_ the danger. This is worse, because uncertainty - thousands of unknown elements - all send her imagination into a horrible tailspin.

Jules' class is _so close_ , but the dangers between here and there suddenly seem infinite.

"Lock down the building," Felicity orders. "I want security searching for her _now_. I'll be on my cell."

She hangs up without waiting for a response and barely takes the time to grab her cellphone before she's sprinting from the room.

As she bursts into the outer rooms, her assistant looks up with a startled gasp, but Felicity breezes right past her with a sharp, "Don't leave your desk." She heads to the elevator with single-minded purpose. "And call me immediately if my daughter shows up."

The owlish woman nods, unaccustomed to this tone from her boss - at least outside the boardroom - but she also knows enough not to ask questions. Felicity wouldn't have stopped if she had.

Mercifully, the elevator is already on her floor and it's empty. Felicity hits the button for the ground floor and punches the 'close door' button with more vigor than is necessary. Not that she cares. It makes her feel better when the doors finally do close and the cab descends.

A million scenarios run through her mind.

Jules had left dance class fifteen minutes ago now, assuming she'd left on time, and it's all of a two minute walk at most. Her studio is literally across the street. Hell, Felicity can _see_ it from her office. Jules is two weeks away from her eighth birthday and it's just _crossing the street_. Her dance teacher even supervises her until she's safely to the other sidewalk, just a building away from QI. But now Felicity has every horrible thing she's ever seen on the news, every miserable crime they've seen in their night jobs, racing through her head like a merry-go-round running at a breakneck pace.

What if something happened? What if someone took her, or someone hurt her, or…

Oh, _god_ , she can't breathe.

Felicity's throat suddenly feels like it's lined with wet cement and she can actually hear the rush of blood in her veins as it pounds in her ears.

This is her daughter, her _baby_ , and all Felicity can think is that no one has seen her in fifteen minutes and their family has no shortage of enemies.

She needs Oliver. Why the _hell_ do they have to be in session right now? Why isn't the stupid capital actually Starling City? He's more than an hour away and the longer she thinks about that fact, the more the weight of the world presses down on her. She needs her husband because their daughter is missing and he's not here, either.

"Damn it," Felicity whispers, her voice cracking. She wipes her face and then brushes shaking hands down her front.

Maybe Jules is downstairs, or maybe she's just walking in, or…

The elevator stops way too soon, and Felicity glances up to find it's only on the ninth floor. When the doors slide open and three people from accounting try to join her, Felicity gives them a look that freezes them in their tracks.

"Sorry. Emergency," she tells them, hitting the close door button again. "You'll have to take the next one."

As if on cue, she hears the building-wide P.A. system in the background advising everyone to be on the lookout for a not-quite-eight-year-old with dark hair.

How is this happening? This is Queen Incorporated. This is _her_ building. It's safe, it has been for nearly a decade. It's practically a second home.

She can't even remember what Jules wore today. Was it the blue and green striped leotard? No, that was Tuesday. Was it the sparkly purple one with the gray sweatpants? She'd have her coat, too, that gray one with the trim that Thea had sent from Paris. It's cold outside, she'd be wearing her coat.

Her head seems to be sacrificing brain power in favor of heightening her senses. She feels every damned vibration of the elevator. She hears the machinery whir as it continues downward. The enclosed space is too bright and too hot. It's stifling, the air stale and insufficient.

She can't _breathe_.

Why isn't she calling Oliver?

Cell reception is horrible in the elevators, always has been, and she curses lowly when she dials Oliver's number only to find his phone is off. She disconnects and punches in the number for his office, grateful the instant the call connects, even if it's choppy and filled with static.

"-titive Qu… ffice. How can… lp you?"

"Jack? Jack, is he in?" she snaps, the questions coming out in quick succession.

"Mrs. Queen?" the man asks, the signal improving.

"Yes. My husband. Is he in?" she asks again.

"No, ma'am, I'm sorry," Jack replies. "He had a meeting with the head of the education committee this evening. He should be back in-"

"I need him _now_ ," Felicity cuts the assistant off. "It's an emergency, Jack. Not like a giant fake earthquake emergency, but it's definitely on that level. I need you to get him, have him call me right away. Got it, Jack? Quick as a flash. Quick as _the_ Flash. Maybe I should call him, too… Anyhow. I'm hanging up. Go. Get my husband. Got it?"

Jack barely gets a chance to agree before she disconnects the call. Frustration burns inside her and she rubs at her eyes as a balloon fills her chest to the point of bursting. She wants to scream and kick and cry and throw something, but she can't. Because she's in an elevator and because she's almost to the bottom.

 _Jules_.

Her baby is _missing_ , and she can't…

Felicity allows herself the smallest moment of overwhelming panic - tears burn her eyes, a soft broken sigh of her daughter's name slipping past her lips - before pulling it together and forcing a steadying breath.

Not now, she can't lose it now. Julianna needs her. She can fall apart later if she needs to. Right now, her baby needs her.

The elevator dings when it reaches the ground floor and Felicity doesn't wait for the doors to fully open before she's darting out of them. She swiftly makes her way to the security desk. She's a woman on a mission, an imposing figure by virtue of sheer force of will and her status as CEO and a Queen, if not by stature. Looking back later, she'll feel slightly bad for the kid working security. He hadn't borne the blame for any of this, but she'd nearly bitten his head off anyhow.

"Have you seen her?" Felicity asks, voice every bit as sharp as the clack of her heels against the marble floor.

She's met with a deer-in-the-headlights look from a barely-post-adolescent guard in an ill-fitting security uniform, who looks around like he's searching for whoever she's talking to. _God_ , how young is QI hiring these days?

"Yes, _you_ ," she clarifies, waving her hand toward him and dipping her head slightly to read his nametag. "Jimmy."

"Mrs. Queen!" he stutters out, but she's already talking over him.

"My daughter. She's almost eight years old, long dark hair, enough dry sarcasm in her little body to give the Sahara a run for its money, probably rolling her eyes and wearing a sparkly purple leotard with ridiculously expensive, gray designer coat. Have you seen her?"

"No… No, ma'am, Mrs. Queen, ma'am," Jimmy replies. "My supervisor, ma'am, he's directing the others. I just have desk duty… I could call him if you want?"

The _last_ thing she needs to be doing is pulling the security team away from actually looking for her daughter so that she can ask them why they haven't found her yet. She has enough presence of mind to know _that_. Still, she can't help but question what they're doing, how they're searching for her, what avenues they've gone down… in the approximately three minutes since she had them notified there was a problem. Alright, so it hasn't actually been that long, but a decade plus of experience tells her precisely how quickly these situations can go downhill and this is her _daughter_ , so she's not exactly rational.

"That is the furthest thing from what I want right now, Jimmy. I need details. From you," she tells him. The muscles of his throat visibly tighten as the man-child gulps heavily. "What is their plan? Where have they looked? Have they even run facial recog…"

Her voice trails off as a light dawns in her head. God, _of course_.

"Ma'am, I just-"

"Hold that thought, Jimmy," Felicity says, stepping away and pulling out her cell phone again, punching yet another familiar number and holding her breath as she waits for it to connect.

"Hi, Felicity," the voice on the other end of the line greets.

"Lyla? Oh thank goodness," Felicity breathes out, tension bleeding out of her on the exhale. "Where are you right now? Are you at… you know, the _place_?"

"We're at the lair, yeah," Lyla confirms. "Johnny wanted to go over some self defense moves with Sara. And, I had that Triad money trail to follow. We needed the lair's network security. What's going on?"

"Julianna's missing," Felicity says without preamble.

" _What_?" Lyla asks. Felicity can hear the chair she's in push back, squeaking against the metal floor as the other woman stands. "How long? Where?"

"She left dance class twenty minutes ago and she never showed up at QI. I need you to-"

"Already on it. Give me just a moment," Lyla tells her, the telltale sound of computer keys being punched serving as a reassuring background noise. The sound is muffled all of a sudden, like Lyla's covering the mouthpiece of her phone with her hand, but even with that Felicity can hear the indistinct voices of the Diggles in the background before everything clears up and Lyla's voice rings out clearly again. "I've got a hit."

Lyla doesn't sound panicked, which is a good sign, but then she isn't exactly prone to hysteria, even in moments where it would be fully understandable, so Felicity's not sure that tells her much.

"And?" she demands.

"I've got her on video leaving dance right on time," Lyla agrees. "And she crossed the street, but there's a blind spot on the cameras along the alley of the building next to QI. She disappeared in that pocket seventeen minutes ago."

Felicity's already pushing her way out the lobby doors and into the street as she snaps roughly, "Why the hell is there a goddamned blind spot?" Even though that's clearly a question for another time, it makes her feel better to focus her fear on something else as her voice echoes over the busy street.

"John is five minutes out," Lyla says, ignoring the question. "I think you should wait for him."

"What?" Felicity actually trips over her own feet as she grinds to a sudden halt, her body pitching forward before she manages to right herself and stop her momentum. The implications of Lyla's request are tremendous and it sends a surge of maternal terror through her that is both nauseating and blinding. "Are you… Do you think… Was there anyone else that disappeared in that blind spot, Lyla?" she demands. "Are you telling me that…"

"No," Lyla interrupts, which is good because Felicity can't finish a _thought_ , much less a sentence. "No, but… Felicity… if this goes poorly I want Johnny there with you. Just in case."

 _Goes poorly_...

Her knees buckle a bit, the weight of her worst fears spoken aloud pressing down on her like a physical force. The area around QI is a lot safer these days. They've made sure of it. But this is still Starling City and they are still rich, high-profile public figures… and Jules is still a seven year old girl. One with better self-defense training that most, but she's still a child and when Felicity thinks about all the dangers that lurk in the shadowy parts of this city, she wants to cocoon all three of her kids between herself and Oliver and never let them go.

She's already moving before she can tell her feet to, propelling herself toward the building next door. "Would you wait if it was Sara?" Felicity asks, breathless from exertion and terror.

"No," Lyla says with a sigh. "I wouldn't. Stay on the phone with me, okay? Don't hang up."

"Okay," Felicity agrees.

The line stays open, but there's no talking after that. The minute-long walk feels like it takes years and Felicity's annoyed at _everything_ \- the cars in the street, the passers-by she brushes past, all of it. They're intrusive and annoying and can't they see that her entire world is upside down right now? She earns a few odd looks, probably because she's manic with fear and it's also January and she completely forgot her coat upstairs. She doesn't even feel the cold. Her concerns are considerably more primal than that at the moment.

When she rounds the corner to the alley, phone clutched tightly in her white-knuckled grip, she holds her breath. In the moment it takes her eyes to adjust to the darkened passage, she's pretty sure her heart doesn't beat at all… until she finally registers what's in front of her, and then it goes triple time.

"Julianna Megan Queen!" Felicity snaps in her loudest, most authoritative voice.

Next to an overflowing dumpster, a little girl jumps to stand, whirling with wide eyes and a ramrod straight back. Felicity goes from blindingly terrified to utterly livid in a snap. She's _fine_. Julianna's fine. Or, she is for the moment. The seven year old might not think so after she's grounded for the next twenty years, give or take a decade.

"She's alright?" Lyla asks softly.

"Completely," Felicity agrees, her voice heated. "That is until I'm done with her, anyhow. Thank you, Lyla."

Lyla hums in agreement before the line disconnects, leaving Felicity's focus wholly on her completely busted second grader.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she demands.

"Nothing," Jules replies, immediately defensive as she wraps her oversized coat around her little body. "I just stopped for a second. That's all."

Felicity is so very mad that she doesn't stop to wonder _why_ her daughter stopped to hang out next to a stinky dumpster for twenty minutes. That's not even a question that crosses her mind because right now she has adrenaline flooding her veins and no outlet whatsoever.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Felicity demands, her vision blurry and her hands shaking with terror that has yet to dissipate. "I thought something happened to you."

"God, Mom, way to overreact," Jules says, rolling her eyes.

"Over… _overreact_?" Felicity sputters.

"I'm fine," Jules interrupts, hugging her jacket around her even tighter. Despite her insistence, her discomfort is obvious, though, and even through the red coloring Felicity's gaze, she sees guilt playing across her daughter's face, even if she won't voice it. "Nothing happened."

"God, Julianna…" Felicity shakes her head in disbelief, her hands setting on her own hips as she gears up for a long talking to. "You do remember that both your father and I have been kidnapped before, right? You know what kind of lives we lead. You _know_ how much danger there is in this city. You are _way_ more educated about that than most kids because of what we do, and yet here you are, slinking around in an alley in the dark. You're a smart girl, Jules, act like it!"

"I wasn't breaking in somewhere to fight bad guys," Jules argues, her blue eyes blazing in defiance. "I was just walking across the street. I'm _fine_. It's not like it was dangerous. I just stopped for a minute."

Felicity can't believe her ears, but really she should because this is her daughter, her bullheaded, independent daughter who seems dead-set on putting her mother in a state of perpetual worry.

" _Twenty_ minutes, Jules," Felicity tells her. "Twenty minutes you stopped for and what were you doing in a…"

A little yip cuts her off. It echoes off the dank brick walls of the buildings lining the alley and Jules instantly responds to it, clearing her throat as she shuffles awkwardly, adjusting her coat.

Felicity stares at her. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Jules tells her quickly. "It's nothing. Whatever. I'm sorry, okay? Let's just go."

" _Julianna_ …" Felicity says, eyeing her daughter sharply.

"It's _nothing_ ," Jules reiterates stubbornly, jutting her chin out in defiance.

God, if she's this hardheaded and troublesome as an elementary schooler, Felicity can't even begin to imagine the challenge she'll be in high school. It's a daunting notion and one that's already on its way to giving her a frakking ulcer.

But all thoughts about her daughter's someday teenager-dom and the hell Felicity is about to bring down on her daughter now are put on hold when a tiny fuzzy head pops up from the collar of Jules' coat.

Felicity's jaw drops, her eyes widening as a tiny puppy licks the underside of her daughter's chin.

"Shoot," Jules grumbles, biting back a smile as she chews her lip and hushes the puppy, wrapping it deeper in her coat.

"A dog?" Felicity asks incredulously. "You stopped for a dog? I nearly had a heart attack over a _dog_?"

"He needed help!" Jules insists, wrapping both arms around the furry little thing. Its tail sticks out from between the buttons of her coat as it yips again, wagging a mile a minute as the puppy licks Jules' neck, making her giggle and shake her head at the mongrel.

Felicity can only watch in amazement as the dog tries to climb its way up Jules' leotard to lick her face, making her daughter laugh.

She _laughs_.

Jules laughs.

Her stubborn, sassy little girl who is more likely to argue the color of the sky with her than smile at her is _laughing_. It's a sound that's so rarely volunteered in the Queen house that she's honestly stunned right now. Jules laughs at things, but it's more of a dry chuckle, a grunt sometimes, a derisive snort. Never _this_. Never a full-bodied giggle that absolutely transforms her daughter right before her eyes.

It's so wonderful that Felicity wants to start laughing along with her.

She can't decide if she's grateful to this stupid dog or if she resents the hell out of it for so easily earning this reaction.

Probably both.

"His paw was stuck," Jules explains, scratching the puppy between its ears. "He's just a baby and he was hungry. He tried to get in the dumpster but his leg got wrapped up in a torn trash bag and he couldn't get free." She glances up at her mother. "He _needed_ me. And that's what we do, right? We help people who need it."

And just like that, the frustration is mounting again. In part because she's _right_ , but she's also wrong. It's so much easier when her points are fully indefensible. Felicity has to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at her again. That's not what she needs to hear.

"Twenty minutes, Jules," Felicity points out. She tries to keep her voice down, but her frustration is too close to the surface and Jules' face twists with consternation as Felicity continues. "Twenty minutes where I didn't know where you were. How long did it take to free his foot? You could have told QI security or the daycare or _me_. He's a dog, not a person, he could have waited a minute for help."

"Dogs are people, too!" Jules shouts back, red-faced and gearing up for a fight. "And he needed me. He needs me!"

It's pretty obvious where this is going and the last thing - the actual _last_ thing - that Felicity needs right now is a puppy in her house. She has a seven month old and a rambunctious four year old and a not-quite-eight-but-emotionally-going-on-sixteen year old. Her husband is both a state representative _and_ a vigilante. She's a CEO _and_ a vital part of the family crime fighting team by night and she does not have any desire at all to housetrain a dog. At all.

"Jules," Felicity sighs heavily, giving the girl a warning look.

"He's mine," Jules announces, her face firm with so much resolve that Felicity curses her own genetics. The look reminds her of the time she'd sworn she was going to space camp if she had to hitchhike her way there, something that'd resulted in a long battle with her own mother. _Why_ did Jules get all of her very worst traits? "He's mine and he needs me and I need to keep him."

"Julianna." Felicity shakes her head. "Honey, we can't-"

"He's the only thing I want for my birthday," Jules blurts out.

Felicity's heart falls, because her daughter hasn't asked for anything at all. She usually doesn't, something that keeps Felicity up at night. But now she is. The ball of fur in Jules' arms licks her nose affectionately and the girl smiles again, a quiet nervous smile that doesn't suit her at all. Jules is all bravado and brash declarations when she chooses to express things. It's so very rare to see her show an ounce of vulnerability - yet another _terrific_ quality she's inherited from her mother - but she is now. With her. Felicity's heart falls even further thinking back to what Oliver had told her about their conversation at the zoo.

Tears well in the little girl's eyes and she blinks hard to keep them from falling, but Felicity sees it anyhow.

"He _needs_ me, Mom," she says.

' _I need him_ ' is what she doesn't say, but Felicity hears it anyhow.

She hears it and she wonders if it isn't true.

Felicity loves all of her children. She has from the instant she knew any of them existed. But she's never had an easy relationship with her oldest. Some of that is her fault, she thinks, and it's a guilty weight she carries with her every day.

It'd been so hard to bond with her baby when she'd still been mourning the loss of Ellie, the _first_ Ellie. It'd taken her a long time to admit even to herself, much less to Oliver, that some part of her had been convinced maybe the baby would _be_ Ellie, born a bit earlier than the other timeline. Felicity loves Julianna so completely for who she is, frustrating though that may sometimes be, because in many ways she truly is her mother's daughter. But in those early days, there'd been a quiet part of her that had felt like it was Ellie who should have been in her arms instead, because that's who she'd secretly thought she'd been pregnant with all along. She hadn't wanted to think that way, but the thought had been there regardless, feeding the postpartum depression she'd suffered through immeasurably.

It's better now. _She's_ better now, well past the postpartum depression, less focused on her own guilt and regrets and more focused on Jules. Still, Felicity knows it can't be easy being the older sister of a little girl your parents knew was one day going to be born and missed desperately. Jules had certainly implied as much to her father on a zoo trip last year. It's improved, Felicity thinks, since Jules opened up to him a bit. They've made a little progress anyhow. Both her and Oliver do everything they can think of to draw Jules out more, to help her feel valued, but Jules is the type to take slights to heart and bear them silently, because acknowledging them means admitting they affect her and that is _not_ a thing she will do.

They may have made _some_ progress but they have such a long way to go.

Still, it's been a struggle, her and Jules. It has for Oliver and their oldest, too, but not to the same extent. Maybe that's because Oliver had coped with the loss of their first Ellie better than she had or maybe it's because he relates less to Jules' more frustrating character traits than she does. She's not sure. But any way you look at it, creating a meaningful bond with their older daughter has been a constant struggle and she knows she bears a lot of the responsibility for that.

"Please?" Jules asks, an uncharacteristic display of anxious vulnerability coloring the word. The naked plea on her daughter's face tells her this is a rare moment where she seems her actual age instead of pushing herself to seem older. It's baldly honest and it cuts Felicity right open. "Please, Momma. I'll take care of him myself. And I'll change Nate's diapers for a week, even the horrible ones. And I _swear_ I'll walk straight to QI after dance from now on. No stops at all. Not for anything. Please? He's a good dog, I _swear_. He won't be any trouble."

Felicity sighs, her heart dropping. There's no good way out of this. Her daughter absolutely does not deserve to be rewarded for being irresponsible and scaring the hell out of her. And yet… and yet this is Jules showing that she cares about something, about _anything_ other than her older brother, painting and dance. She's letting herself be vulnerable and hopeful. And, damn it, it's a refreshing change of pace and something that gives _her_ hope, too.

The dog, a thorough mutt with obvious German Shepard influences and paws that are way too big for its mangy little frame, stares up at Jules like she hung the moon and it strikes Felicity that maybe she really _does_ need this. They're so very busy, her and Oliver, and while they will always, _always_ make time for their kids, there are three of them. Nate needs a tremendous amount of attention and Ellie is like actual sunshine, effervescent and outgoing, drawing everyone in effortlessly. By necessity and human nature, Jules gets less attention than Felicity would like. She's private and prickly, more likely to lock herself away in her room than interact with them voluntarily.

She doesn't _talk_ to them. Not about her problems or her day at school or how dance is going, though they try day after day in so many different ways to get her to share just a sliver of herself with them. It's better than it was a year ago, but they still rarely get more than a shrug and a ' _fine'_ from her. Maybe she needs someone to talk to, someone to listen, and Felicity's suddenly absolutely certain that her daughter would easily open up to this dog, even if she won't talk to them.

It is, if nothing else, a step.

"I'll have to talk to your father," she decides aloud, hedging her answer. But Jules doesn't hear that. All she hears is that it's not a ' _no'_ and that's more than enough to make the girl the most excited Felicity can ever remember seeing her.

"Really?" Jules asks, her eyes widening. Her whole body buzzes with enthusiasm. "Really, really?"

The dog picks up on her elation easily, soaking it up like a sponge, and it licks Jules on the face again to show it's right there with her. Felicity grimaces. The animal is obviously a stray and it was _just_ eating garbage and now it's licking her daughter's face, but Jules just laughs and it brightens up her little features in a way that is so… new. And _good_.

Yeah, she decides right then and there that they're keeping this dog. Oliver will have to deal with it. She wants to see this kind of joy on her daughter's face again and she's not willing to rob herself _or_ Jules of that opportunity because of the risk of a few fleas.

"Don't think we're done talking about this, though," Felicity says, waving at the alleyway. "You can't just disappear on me, Jules."

"I know," Jules replies with a nod, the words coming out so effortlessly as all her attention focuses on the dog. "I'm sorry, Mom."

She means it. She _genuinely_ means it and it's all because this tiny little mutt isn't leaving Jules with the energy or desire to keep her walls up. Felicity almost says to hell with any punishment. Almost. Jules did just about give her a heart attack.

"Thank you," Felicity says quietly. Jules only has eyes for the dog, and her eyes are lit up with a delight she's never worn on her face before. Felicity steps closer, scratching the puppy behind the ears. "Well… we can't leave him _here_ , can we? And he definitely needs to see a vet and get a good meal in him."

"Oh, he ate," Jules tells her, kissing the puppy on its forehead.

Felicity blinks at her. "Garbage?"

"No," Jules says, hugging the puppy tightly. "I had a tuna sandwich. We split it. Didn't we, boy?"

No _wonder_ the puppy adores her.

"He _is_ kinda cute," Felicity acknowledges. It earns a huge smile from Jules. A smile _at her_. Felicity thinks she might cry from how beautiful it is. She hadn't realized quite how much she needed to see that.

"Right?" Jules asks her. "And he's _super_ good. Like, really, really good. You should have seen how gentle he was taking the sandwich from me. He'll be great with Ellie and Nate, even if he is _my_ dog. He'll be sweet to them, too. You'll see."

"Good," Felicity nods before looking at the dog again. It cocks its head to one side and half raises one ear like it's listening to her and _damn it_ , but this thing really is ridiculously cute. "But no digging in the trash at home, buster, you got me?"

"Buster!" Jules says delightedly. "He won't. You're a good boy, aren't you, Buster?"

And just like that Felicity knows not only do they have a new puppy, but she inadvertently named it, too. It's almost ridiculous how much this means to her, that this little puppy has opened a door between her and her daughter, one that might never have been there without it.

"Can I have a hug, Julie?" Felicity ventures. It kills her a little when the little girl hesitates slightly. "I get why you stopped, even though you really shouldn't have and absolutely will not again, but I was really, _really_ scared. I love you so very much and I had all these _thoughts_ … I just could really use a hug."

It takes her a second, but the girl finally shrugs one shoulder and closes the distance between them, letting her mother's arms wrap around her and the puppy both. There's a tension that hangs on to Jules' frame, like she's afraid to want this, to accept it, but it melts away a little after a moment and Felicity could sob for how the girl burrows against her more affectionately.

The puppy - _Buster_ \- yips between them, its tail thumping against Felicity's ribs and its tongue licking at her arm.

It's definitely cute. But it's got nothing on Jules.

"Thanks, Mom," she mutters into her mother's shirt. "Love you."

Felicity shuts her eyes to trap in a swell of emotion that has tears welling up. This is not a cure-all. It is not a quick fix to their perpetually strained relationship. But it is a start, a bigger step than they've managed to take in nearly a year, and that's more than Felicity could have hoped for.

"I love you, too, Jules," she replies, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "More than you know."

Jules pulls back at that with a roll of her eyes. But she's still smiling and that's a huge win in Felicity's book.

"Let's go get your sister and brother and head home," Felicity suggests.

"Hear that, Buster? We're going _home_. To your home," Jules tells the puppy, pressing her forehead to the dog's. It licks her face excitedly, long wet tongue lapping at her pink cheeks.

Jules actually _giggles_ with happiness.

It's breathtaking and Felicity can't _wait_ for Oliver to see it.

She wraps her arm around her daughter. Jules doesn't shrug it off for once or step away and Felicity holds her a little closer, as much as she dares.

The two of them start the short walk back toward QI when her phone rings.

Felicity pulls it from her pocket and glances at the display. A picture of Oliver and all three kids from when Nate had been born greets her. Felicity bites her lip before answering. While Oliver might be fully accepting of this dog once he sees how much Jules loves it, she's sure his initial reaction will probably be a lot like hers had been.

"What's wrong?" he asks in place of a greeting.

"It's okay now," Felicity replies, remembering just how frantic she must have seemed to Jack when she'd called his office before. "Jules didn't show up at the daycare and we had a bit of a panicky situation for a while, but I found her and she's fine."

The extremely long sigh he lets out is both relief and frustration rolled into one. "Damn it, Jules."

Felicity gets it. She won't tell him this, but his hair is substantially more salt and pepper than the other timeline's version of him had been at this age. She's absolutely certain that's entirely thanks to Julianna.

"She's fine," Felicity points out again. "And she won't do it again. We had a talk. We're good."

"You talked or there was yelling and she stomped off in a huff?" Oliver asks knowingly.

"Talked," Felicity clarifies, casting a glance at her daughter as the girl chuckles gleefully again, the puppy trying to lick her lips. The dog is tenacious and when Jules angles her head away, the puppy follows, making her laugh even louder.

"Is that…" Oliver pauses, going damn near silent to hear more of the sound. "Is that _Jules_ laughing?"

"Yeah," Felicity agrees, grinning hugely. She stares at their daughter. "You should see it. It's beautiful."

He pauses, like he's not sure what to do with this idea, and she can't blame him because she isn't sure she could have envisioned this kind of joy on her daughter's face this morning either.

"I already left my meeting early," he tells her. "I'm headed home. I'll be there in about an hour."

"Good," Felicity replies. "We'll wait for you to have dinner, then. But, uh… Oliver…"

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I should inform you before you get home that we have a new member of the family," she says. When the other end goes absolutely silent again, she finishes in a rush, "But the good news is I'm not pregnant."

Oliver makes a choking noise and she cannot blame him in the least because _wow_ that is not a thing they could handle right now. At all. Or probably ever again.

"If your goal is to scare the hell out of me today, honey, you're doing a damned good job of it."

"It's not, but if you could swing by the store and pick up some puppy food on the way home…"

"A puppy?" he asks, sounding exactly as thrilled as she'd known he would be. "Felicity…"

As if on cue, Jules laughs again, loud and happy and completely focused on the little dog staring up at her adoringly.

"Yeah, Oliver," Felicity tells him, watching her little girl. "A puppy. Trust me, it's worth it."

And it is. Looking at her daughter, she knows that with absolute certainty.


	9. November 2031

**November 2031**

" _Get up, get up, get up, you lazy butt!"_

Ellie groans, but her own voice singing only gets louder and louder. She shoves her head under her pillow, her hand reaching for her evil phone, moaning, "No, no, no," as she slaps blindly at her nightstand. The best thing about the holidays isn't that she doesn't have to go to school. No, it's that she gets to sleep in, rather than haul butt to make sure she gets to homeroom on time. Well, she would get to if she hadn't forgotten to turn her alarm off, anyhow.

" _Get up, get up, get up, you lazy butt!"_

Her fingers graze the phone, but she doesn't turn it off. No, she does something much more satisfying. She picks it up and chucks it across the room. As if _that_ ever helps anything. Her recorded singing doesn't abate in the least as it lands in her laundry basket, just like it does every morning. Ellie growls, "Dummy," into her mattress. You'd think she'd learn, but she can't get past her gut reaction to just _throw_ the stupid thing instead of turning it off like a normal person. It just feels so _good_ to hurl the phone across the room.

" _Get up, get up, get up, you lazy butt!"_

With a final groan, Ellie wraps herself up in her comforter and rolls off the bed. She shuffles blindly to her laundry basket like a giant fluffy burrito, tossing clothes out until she finds her phone. When she does, she turns it off, drops it back into her laundry and collapses onto her blissfully warm bed. It welcomes her home with open arms and when she's settled again, she lets out a deeply content sigh. She's not moving, not for anything. Okay, that's not entirely true. She's definitely going to get up for Thanksgiving dinner, but until then she's staying right here. She's going to nap and maybe read a book and check her social media… A picture is needed, she decides, a picture of her as a giant fluffy Thanksgiving burrito. She snorts to herself, imagining going through the hashtags for something like that.

But that's it.

She's. Not. Moving.

Ellie snuggles deeper into her comforter cocoon, sighing again, smiling to herself in pure bliss. Oh yeah, this is the stuff right here. It takes a few minutes before the pull of sleep starts to tug her back under. She gives herself over to it completely, ready to nap until it's turkey time…

But life just isn't on her side today.

"Ellie!"

Nate's voice echoes from somewhere outside her closed door. It sounds like he's down the hall, maybe even downstairs. Basically he's somewhere really far away, which might require her to get up and move and how about _no_.

" _Ellie_!"

"No," she groans, burying her head further in her covers. She loves her little brother, she really does, but she'd so much rather he be anywhere else other than trying to invade her precious holiday sanctuary. "Go away," she mumbles. He can't hear her, but she doesn't care. It feels good to say. "Far, far, _far_ away."

"Jules!" Nate shouts, his voice closer and way louder. Like he's coming toward their rooms. As that realization processes in Ellie's sleep-addled brain, she catches the sound of his feet thumping up the stairs.

"Crap," Ellie whispers.

She's got maybe a minute before he's at her door, knocking and calling her name over and over until she opens up. Well, that isn't happening, she decides. Not today. This morning is for _rest_ because _holiday_ and her little brother isn't about to take that from her. Nope, not gonna happen. Keeping her blanket wrapped tight around her, Ellie rolls out of bed again and ambles blearily toward her bedroom door. If he thinks he's going to tear her from her wonderfully comfortable morning, he's got another thing coming. And if he thinks she's leaving her warm room and her even warmer burrito blanket? Ha! He's gonna have to pry the comforter from her cold, dead hands.

Nate barely gets half a knock out on her door when she yanks it open, and in the place of a greeting, she glowers at him. A good morning hasn't been earned and it's _so_ not time for a cheerful 'Happy Thanksgiving.'

He misses it, though, only having eyes for her hair, as a look of comical surprise that might have been cute any other day colors his face.

"You're…" He points up. "What happened to your hair?"

Ellie wants to say, " _You did_ ," but she bites it back. She doesn't need to look in a mirror. She knows exactly what her bedhead looks like - thank you very much - and she really doesn't care that her curls are matted to the side of her face because it's Thanksgiving and she has nowhere she needs to be.

"It's a _holiday_ , Nate," she reminds him, her voice a groggy mess. See? She needs to go back to bed. "You know those things without alarms or school or obligations."

"Not so much," he replies.

Ellie's glare narrows at that, and she must look scary because Nate's eyes widen as he takes a huge step back. He shuffles awkwardly, and while that usually makes her want to ruffle his neatly cut hair, today it just irks her. Because he can't be talking about alarms or schools.

He's talking about _obligations._

" _Why_?" she demands.

"Mom called," he says. That wakes her more than anything else could because why isn't Mom _here_? It's Thanksgiving, she and Dad should be in the kitchen like they are every year at the crack of dawn, her mother half-asleep and buried in a coffee cup while her wide-awake father dives into serious Food Preparation Mode, 'kiss the cook' apron and all. Nate continues on before she can ask, already explaining. "She and Dad are working this morning. Someone's trying to bomb the Starling Thanksgiving Day parade and the team's got to stop it. She didn't want to wake us when they left."

So, just another day in the Queen household then.

"Okay…" Ellie ventures. That is mildly interesting, obviously - someone _bombing_ something like the Thanksgiving Parade is worthy of attention - but it still doesn't quite explain why she has to be awake and standing and interacting with people right now.

"Will and his roommates are going to be here at two for dinner," Nate reminds her. When she just stares at him, not following, he adds, "We're gonna have to cook it."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

They're gonna have to _cook it_.

Ellie can only stare at him. The words don't compute. At all. Because Thanksgiving dinner and cooking aren't usually in the same sentence when it comes to anything she does. Ever. Her jaw slackens some as the meaning of what he's saying starts to form, but her sister's voice suddenly chiming in from the bathroom down the hall interrupts the process.

"Say that again?" Jules demands just before she appears in the bathroom doorway. She stares at Nate with her eyebrows raised expectantly, the ultimate image of _grunge_ in the old clothes she uses for painting. The sixteen-year-old looks like she's in exactly as much disbelief as Ellie's in, but hers is lined with a heavy air of ' _oh hell no'_ that Ellie hasn't quite reached yet.

No worries, though, she's getting there.

As if he can feel her discord, Jules' dog Buster comes bouncing out of her room, his ears perked, his tail wagging as his eyes switch between all three of them.

"We don't have a choice," Nate appeals to both of his sisters, looking back and forth between them. "We have seventeen people who will be here for dinner in a few hours and we sort of need to have food!"

Ellie goes to reply, opens her mouth to say something - _anything_ , because surely there's a way around this - but her brain quickly shorts out and she can't think of any way to bypass a frenzied morning of cooking for virtually everyone they know. It's what their family does, every year. Thanksgiving dinner is _always_ at their house, and everyone always comes over. It's a huge thing. It's a _Thing_. They can't _not_ do it. Right? She pauses, because while it's a _Thing_ , she still has no idea how to respond. Ellie looks at Jules, like maybe her older sister will have thought this through a few steps past her, but Jules has the same sinking look on her face that Ellie's sure she's wearing, too.

"We can't cancel," Nate continues. "And we can't explain it. Not to William's roommates. They can't know about Team Arrow. Mom and Dad are counting on us, guys. We've gotta cook Thanksgiving dinner."

"Did they…" Jules starts, but the words fade as she just stares at Nate. She's trying to think of a way around this, Ellie can see the wheels turning in her head, but based on the way her mouth hangs open and no sound comes out, she's got nothing.

And neither does Ellie.

Their parents do _so much_ , so much more than anyone outside of their family can really know. And Ellie's pretty sure there's plenty of stuff they do that even she and her siblings don't know. And now, on a _holiday_ of all days, they're out there again, saving the Thanksgiving parade from some crazy person with a _bomb_ instead of cooking dinner for their extended family. What are they going to do? Cook when they get home? All bloody and bruised and tired?

That's not fair.

With a sigh, Ellie lets her comforter go as her shoulders fall. This really doesn't fit in with her morning plans of self-indulgent laziness, but… it's the right thing to do. Also, she's pretty sure most pizza places are closed today.

Jules lets out a frustrated groan, and Ellie's pretty sure this has screwed with whatever her sister had planned for the day, too. She looks at the ceiling like it might have some kind of way out or possibly she's blaming it for their current predicament. But the ceiling doesn't have answers anymore than Ellie or Nate do.

" _Fine_ ," Jules resigns. "Fine. So we… cook a holiday dinner for everyone we know. That's… gonna be great."

Her tone is the exact opposite of her words, but it does nothing to diminish the relief on Nate's face. It's sort of ridiculous actually. Did he really think they'd leave him to do everything? Because her nine-year-old brother would absolutely try to prepare an entire dinner for seventeen people on his own if he had to, and both she and Jules know it.

They aren't _that_ mean.

Ellie sighs, looking down longingly at her pyjamas. "Just let me find actual clothes."

"And maybe pull your hair back, too?" Nate offers with gentle hesitance. Ellie can't blame him. She probably looked like she was ready to take his head off a minute ago. And, he does have a point. Her hair gets _everywhere_.

"Yeah, that's definitely not good seasoning for the sweet potatoes," Jules adds, staring at Ellie's head with what some might call a stink-eye. Ellie sticks her tongue out at her, prompting Jules to roll her eyes. She means for her reaction to be to be all exasperation, but Ellie catches a hint of a smile before she nods to Nate and then her. "Meet downstairs in ten?"

"Yeah, okay," Ellie grumbles before venturing back into her room.

With a whispered, "Yeah!" Nate hurries back downstairs - the freaky little kid is probably on his way to organize all the food they'll need in alphabetical order or something - while Jules disappears back in her room. Ellie can hear her shuffling around, things that sound like jars and brushes clacking together; she's probably cleaning up her painting supplies.

For her part, Ellie needs clothes. She pulls on jeans and an oversized sweatshirt because her day of relaxation may be gone, but she's darn well not going to sacrifice comfort. She winds her hair up in a very messy and barely restrained bun before hurrying to brush her teeth and scrub her face.

With one minute to spare, she jogs downstairs and into the kitchen.

The second she crosses the threshold, she pauses. She's not wrong about Nate. He's organized a truly frightening number of ingredients and measuring cups and bowls across the entire kitchen counter. And that's not even taking into account the huge unwrapped turkey and veritable wall of vegetables by the stove. Just the sight of that many things needing her attention makes Ellie want to run back upstairs and burrow into her blanket again.

But she can't do that to her brother. Especially since he's standing in the center of the kitchen with utter hope on his face, like they're actually going to pull this off.

Oh yeah, her day of relaxation is totally _gone_.

"I called WIlliam and asked him to stall," Jules announces, stepping up behind her, Buster on her heels. She pauses, though, when she sees everything, her eyes widening. As she surveys it all, she asks, "Could we get away with just ordering pizza?"

Nate blanches at that as Ellie almost starts to nod. _Someone_ has to be open today, right? For the right price, anyhow. And yet, even as her brain goes down that path, she realizes she doesn't really want that. While, yeah, she doesn't want to actually _cook_ , ordering pizza just feels wrong. And the look of pure horror on her brother's face confirms it.

But still.

 _Cooking_.

"You can't have pizza on Thanksgiving!" Nate says, thoroughly scandalized. "It's _Thanksgiving_."

"We could... get it with ham on it?" Ellie suggests. For all of four or five seconds, it feels like an actual solution and relief is quick to follow until she realizes there's more meaning to Thanksgiving than just ham or turkey. More than _food_ , really. Still. _Cooking_. "I mean, that's almost like Thanksgiving, right?" she follows up weakly.

She can see Nate's eye twitching from across the room.

"Okay, okay," Jules agrees, grabbing Ellie by the arm and dragging her forward until they're at their brother's side. "How about you tell us the menu then and we'll figure out what to do from there."

Now that she's closer, Ellie sees that the sea of ingredients and measuring cups and mixing bowls and small kitchen appliances dominate the countertop so much that she can scarcely see the granite beneath it.

To say it's daunting would be an understatement. And for as much as she loves hanging out with her dad while he cooks, it's not like she's ever been much of an active participant. Her contribution is usually limited to taste-testing. Besides, this isn't just dinner… it's _Thanksgiving_ dinner. It's the Olympics of dinners. Prepared for basically their entire extended family and then some.

So yeah. _Daunting_.

"Well… the most important thing is the turkey," Nate says, because prioritizing is his thing. "So we should start there. I turned on the oven."

Jules nods. "Good." She and Ellie both turn to look at the enormous bird sitting on the counter. Jules nods again. "That's a good first step."

An extremely long moment of silence follows. None of them move, all of them staring at the turkey as if it might tell them what to do next, like a solution will magically present itself. Or, better, like maybe their dad will appear in all his culinary glory to save the day. That's his specialty after all, right? Saving things?

But nothing happens. The turkey just sits there and their dad is nowhere in sight.

"What's the next step?" Ellie asks finally, looking to her siblings.

Jules works her jaw as she sighs.

Nate just gulps heavily and looks at the turkey. "I think…" He cringes. "I think we need to clean it or something."

Ellie eyes the bird. "Is it even thawed?"

"Yes," Nate answers with a definitive nod. He's all confidence, nodding again, pleased that he knows at least _one_ thing today.

"Well," Jules says, reaching a hand out to poke the bird, "that's something anyhow."

Nate grabs her wrist before she can get close, though, his alarmed, "Wash your hands!" echoing through the kitchen.

He's right, of course, but the level of concern in his voice is ridiculous. Ellie shakes her head at her little brother. She's pretty sure he was born to take things too seriously.

Jules rolls her eyes before going to the sink. Ellie follows suit. As far as steps in preparing Thanksgiving dinner go, this is one she's got down pat.

"Nate," her sister says as she washes her hands, "why don't you Google this so we aren't totally lost."

"Right," he breathes out. He scrambles to pull a tablet from the junk drawer. "Yes. Good plan."

Jules dries her hands as she turns toward their little brother. For the first time in a long time, Ellie does exactly what Jules does, following her actions to perfection. Her sister's entire demeanor says she's taking charge, which is not at all surprising. Jules can be bossy as hell, especially from Ellie's point of view, but for once Ellie is _super_ happy that her big sister is in control. She so does not want to be responsible for this dinner.

"What's first?" Jules asks.

"It says we rinse it first," Nate informs her. He looks from the bird to the sink. "I don't think it's gonna fit under the faucet, though."

He's not wrong.

Ellie tilts her head, trying to imagine the behemoth angled just right so it will fit, but it's just too big. "We could just… pour water over it, maybe?"

Jules shrugs. "Or… use the hose."

"You want to hose down the turkey in the backyard?" Nate questions.

"Well, it's that or the shower," Jules replies dryly. "And I'm kinda grossed out by the idea of prepping Thanksgiving dinner in the bathroom."

Ellie makes a face at even the thought, before remembering with a shudder walking into her parents' bathroom yesterday and finding them _both_ in the tub. Thank God for bubbles, but still… Scarred. For. Life. "Uh, yeah, no," Ellie agrees, shaking her head. "Definitely not the shower. _No._ Hose it is."

"We're going to get drenched!" Nate protests. He waves at the kitchen window. "It's cold out. And _raining_."

"Do you have a better solution?" Jules challenges. That makes him pause, because no, he clearly doesn't. None of them do. "Go get your raincoat then," she tells him.

He looks back out the window, looking like he wants to argue. But they don't have any other ideas and so, with a perturbed sigh, he sets the tablet down runs to grab his rain slicker.

"How would dad have done this?" Ellie asks, grabbing her hoodie off the back of a kitchen barstool where she'd left it last night. "Because I don't see him hosing off the turkey out back."

"Can't exactly ask him right now, can we?" Jules says, staring at the turkey. She shrugs. "He's probably hopping from float to float in the parade looking for bombs right now. There's no way he'd be very receptive to questions about how to rinse giant turkeys right now."

Well, _there's_ a mental image, and a harsh reminder of what her parents are currently doing.

"Should we have the news on?" Ellie asks, looking back at the abandoned tablet. It's still on and she can see a perfectly cooked turkey with the long list of instructions that Nate had pulled up. "See if they're okay?"

Jules pauses. She glances at the tablet before giving a little shrug, like she doesn't care. It's a sure sign she does care, even if she won't say the words. Ellie huffs in exasperation at her sister, who says, "I'm sure they're fine, Elle. And it might distract Nate." She looks at Ellie. "We're probably better with it off."

Right. It's just Nate that might be distracted. _Sure_. Regardless, the news stays off and they don't bring it up when their younger brother comes back. While it might not _only_ be Nate who would be worried, he definitely would be as well. Especially if their mother is at the actual parade with their dad.

"Okay," Jules says. "Grab the bird."

Nate pales. "Do we have gloves or something?"

"You can't possibly be that squeamish," Jules tells him, putting her hands on her hips and levelling her brother with a look. "It's the outside of a dead bird, Nate. It's not like you're digging out its innards."

"Yet," Ellie adds under her breath. She knows enough that they need to clean the thing out, just like she knows that task will fall to her or Jules because there's absolutely no way Nate's going to be cleaning out the inside of a turkey. He'd probably sooner settle for the pizza option than stick his hand inside a dead bird.

She can perfectly imagine the face he'd make if he was forced to get his arms elbow-deep into the business end of a raw turkey, and Ellie has to bow her head to hide her snicker.

"Why aren't we just having ham?" Nate grumbles, grabbing the turkey.

It's much heavier than it looks, apparently, considering the way he instantly starts to keel over.

Before he can drop it, Ellie rushes to support the other end of the bird.

"Holy crap," Ellie says when she lifts it up.

It's _heavy._ The thing is way _huge_ , like way-too-big huge. It's probably nearly thirty pounds, which is silly considering they're having all of _seventeen_ people over for dinner. Then again, three of those people are William and his roommates and they can probably put away three servings each, so maybe it's more appropriate than it seems at first blush.

The turkey's skin is wet and clammy and when Ellie turns to head outside, it tilts towards Nate, dribbling some kind of thready juice down his coat. The poor kid lets out a low, "Ugh," as he grimaces. He looks like he might puke, but thankfully he manages rein it in.

"You okay?" Ellie asks him as they head out the backdoor, turkey in hand. It's clearly been raining all morning because the ground is soaked, but the only thing coming down from the sky anymore is a light misty rain.

Nate gives her a hard nod instead of answering verbally, his skin tinged a weird green color. Given the way his paled lips pinch together, Ellie thinks the non-answer is probably a really wise choice.

Unlike her siblings, Jules doesn't bother with any kind of a jacket. She doesn't seem to give a damn about the light rain coming down as she heads over to the hose and turns it on. Buster bounds through the moisture with glee, running around the yard to check all his favored spots, while Jules picks up the hose and turns back to them.

The smile on her face is the last thing Ellie expects just then, which is just stupid, really. She knows her sister better than that.

Ellie stares at the older girl. "I know it's probably really tempting to soak us, but please try not to," she says. Jules lifts her eyebrows, all innocence, but it's obvious she's fighting a grin. Ellie sighs loudly before wiggling her half of the turkey. "We have a lot more to do than rinse this stupid turkey."

"I know that," Jules replies. Her eyes are still frighteningly alight with mischief as she wiggles the hose. "I'm not actually crazy enough to force myself to cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner for everyone all on my own."

The reassurance is nice to hear. Jules has a penchant for trouble when she's in the right mood, and while that can be fun - especially lately, Jules just got her driver's license earlier this year - sometimes it's not. Like right now. But the water she runs over the bird is ultimately not the water fight Ellie had feared and she comes out of the turkey shower none the worse for wear. Nate, for his part, looks like he regrets ever touching the bird, especially when they rotate the turkey and something falls right out of it, landing on his shoes.

"Ugh, gross!" he says, trying to dodge it but failing epically. Nate gags and shuts his eyes. He misses Buster coming up with a happy grin to lick away the remnants of what looks like turkey guts before Jules shoos him away, which is probably a good thing. The poor kid's is going to be scarred by this entire experience anyway at the rate they're going. The way he's gripping the turkey like a lifeline only confirms it.

Ellie has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing, because it's so obvious he's _really_ grossed out. Jules shakes her head at him before nudging his shoulder.

"You're okay," Jules tells him. "Why don't you go inside and clean up a bit. Start scrubbing the potatoes or cubing them? Ellie and I will get the turkey."

She doesn't have to suggest it twice. Nate more-or-less shoves the bird in her direction, not waiting to see if she has a grip on it before he runs off.

Which turns out to be a really bad thing, because wet turkey is _slippery_.

Between the slickness of the bird and the sudden shift in weight, Ellie loses her grip and before Jules can help her, the damned thing tumbles downward. They both shout - Jules a curse word that would make their Grandma Moira gasp and Ellie a squeal - and they both try to catch the carcass, but it's no use.

The turkey falls to the ground with a wet splat where it lands in a muddy puddle in the grass.

For a split second, they both freeze, just staring at it. It's pathetic, really. Shameful, even. They're _The Arrow's_ kids, for God's sake. They should be able to catch a thirty pound dead bird.

"Uh…" Jules stares at the carcass at their feet. The puddle of mud it sits in only seems to grow. "So, maybe we don't tell anyone about this?"

Ellie snorts, and a laugh is quick to follow. She covers her mouth, her shoulders moving in silent laughter as she manages to reply with a, "Definitely not."

Jules huffs out an amused chuckle before shaking her head and shoving the hose at Ellie. "Here, you rinse and I'll take the damned bird." She squats down and hefts up the turkey. She turns the open end to Ellie. "Make sure you rinse out the insides, too. Nobody needs mulch in their dinner."

"But it would give it such a lovely woodsy, smoked flavor," Ellie says before getting to work.

Jules just snorts in reply.

They get the turkey rinsed off, with no lingering evidence of mud or anything else untoward, but Jules is completely drenched by the time they're done. She's completely nonchalant about it, though. It's the kind of thing the older girl takes in stride, but even still, the fact that she doesn't seem to even be shivering is kind of amazing. The rain mixed in with the cold water from the hose and the cold turkey is making for a freezing morning in Ellie's book.

"Alright," Jules finally says, looking the bird over and deeming it acceptable. "Let's get this thing inside and figure out how we cook it."

"You might want to change, too," Ellie suggests as she throws the hose back into its place. She wrinkles her nose as she looks her sister over. The turkey might be mud-free, but Jules isn't. Buster isn't much better. "And take a shower."

"I'll swap shirts, but there's no time for a shower yet," Jules tells her as they head inside. She shrugs. "It's not like this is the messiest we're gonna get today."

That's probably horrifyingly true.

Nate's at the far end of the kitchen, scrubbing the hell out of a pile of potatoes with so much vigor he might as well be rubbing the skin off entirely. He looks their way and shudders a little when he sees the turkey in Jules' hands. Both his shoes are discarded near the door to the yard and his raincoat is nowhere to be seen, his hands freshly scrubbed to the point where they're reddened. Their brother is nothing if not fastidious.

Which is why they don't mention the whole turkey-falling-in-the-mud thing. Considering it's already oozed weird juices and guts all over him anyway, Ellie's questioning whether he'll eat it all at this point.

Ellie loses her shoes and hoodie as Jules puts the bird back on the counter. "What was next?" her sister asks as she drifts into the laundry room. Ellie hears the rustle of fabric and the dryer door closing just before she comes out a second later in a fresh shirt. Well, fresh by Jules' standards. It's _old_ and faded, a Sex Pistols shirt that's seen far better days. Jules looks at Nate. "With the turkey, I mean."

"The insides," Nate tells her. That pale green hue won't be going away anytime soon, Ellie decides. As if he memorized the instructions already - he probably did - he lists the next step almost methodically. "You need to release the legs and pull out the giblet."

Jules pauses. "What the fuck's a giblet?"

"I'm pretty sure we don't want to know," Ellie replies, tugging at the bird's legs before inspecting them to see what exactly is keeping them in place. She frowns. "Why is there _metal_ holding the legs down? That's so random."

Nate shrugs. "How should I know?"

"You're like the Google-guru today," Ellie points out.

"I was looking at the _how's_ of cooking a turkey," Nate replies loftily, grabbing another potato. "Not the why's."

Ellie takes a second to stare at his potato pile. At the rate he's going it's going to take all day just for him to scrub the things.

"Who cares," Jules agrees, sidling up next to Ellie. She messes with the metal bits until the bird's legs are free. She is, at times, the polar opposite of Nate. This is one of those moments as she doesn't hesitate in the least before sticking her hand into the turkey and rooting around for whatever the hell a giblet is. She comes back empty-handed, though. Jules furrows her brow as she rotates the bird to peer inside. "We have a flashlight?" she asks.

"For looking into the turkey?" Ellie asks with a hint of incredulousness in her voice.

"Yeah," Jules replies, a hard, defensive tone shading her words. "It's dark in there."

Nate pulls a flashlight from the junk drawer and hands it to his sister, careful not to touch her hands. He doesn't wait to watch as Jules goes back to inspecting the bird, heading right back to his potatoes. He's so easily grossed out. Ellie makes a mental note to come up with a way to prank him soon. Maybe Jules will help. She's strongly considering shredding some cheese and melting it beneath his blanket with the help of a hair dryer when Jules pipes up again.

"Yeah, I don't see anything," she announces, flicking the flashlight off and pulling away from the bird's body cavity. "Maybe that's what fell out onto Nate's feet?"

"Maybe?" Ellie agrees with a shrug. "What's the worst thing that could happen if we cook it and we're just missing these giblet things?"

"I have no idea," Jules replies. "But if it's not there, we can't find it. And if we don't get this thing in the oven soon it's never going to be done on time and we'll have seventeen starving people with only a pile of very clean potatoes to feed them."

"Better than feeding them dirty potatoes," Nate counters.

A wave of deja vu hits Ellie at the sight of him standing over the sink, dutifully cleaning each potato and carefully placing them into neat piles. The instant the lightbulb goes off, she makes a 'duh' face.

"Guys, why aren't we calling Raisa?" Ellie asks, looking around for a similar ' _aha!'_ moment from her siblings, but she gets nothing. Jules is manipulating the bird's wings somehow while Nate grabs another potato. Ellie throws her hands up expectantly. "Hello?"

"She's in Russia," Jules says before hoisting the turkey into a roasting pan. It barely fits, and that's being generous. She stuffs some of the overflowing parts into the pan. "Grandma and Dad both gave her two months off and sent her to go visit her niece's family."

"Oh," Ellie answers. She hadn't even _noticed_ that Raisa had been absent.

"She left two days ago," Jules adds, stepping back and crossing her arms as she eyes the turkey. She glances at Ellie. "It was a surprise for her and you had volleyball practice. I'm not surprised you didn't know. The better question," she segues, "is why aren't we calling Grandma?"

The way Jules shoots from one topic to another is no accident. Her older sister is deft at navigating conversational potholes and if Ellie's face is as crestfallen as she feels, because she missed out on Raisa _leaving the country_ for two whole months, Jules undoubtedly sees it's most bothering her. Her older sister avoids discomfort like a ninja, both her own and other people's. Veering the conversation to their grandmother is very, very intentional and while neither of them will acknowledge it out loud, Ellie's grateful.

Besides, she's pretty sure they all already knows the answer.

"She's the mayor," Nate points out, oblivious to all of the subtleties going on. "She's at the parade."

"Well, we need _some_ help. It's already been an hour and we've barely done anything. How does Dad _do_ all of this?" Ellie surveys the countertop. "What about… uh…" She considers how bad the situation really looks before sighing and finishing her suggestion. "What about Grandma Donna?"

"Are you nuts?" Jules asks, staring at her blankly. "Like, have you lost your actual mind?"

It's a fair question. They all remember very clearly the food poisoning incident of 2028 and none of them have any desire to repeat that gut-wrenching experience.

"Okay, what about William?" Ellie suggests.

Nate shrugs. "Maybe if we're making mac and cheese…"

Ellie huffs, blowing a stray blonde curl away from her face. "Well, there's gotta be _someone_ who can help. What about Samantha?"

Both Jules and Nate stop what they're doing to look at her with raised eyebrows.

They've never looked more related than they do in this moment.

"You want to call _Samantha_?" Jules asks, like she's positive she heard Ellie wrong, like it's an even worse suggestion than Grandma Donna. And again, she has a point. Despite the fact that William's a huge part of their lives, they've never been particularly close with Samantha. And that's exponentially more true these days, given the strain between William and his mom. She is _not_ happy about his career of choice and she's even less happy with his father for encouraging it. Jules stares at her. "Really?"

"We can't adult!" Ellie says in her defense. She waves at the food all around them. "This is ridiculous. What about Iris or Caitlin or Cisco?"

She knows better than to suggest Barry.

"No," Jules counters. She picks up the roasting pan with a grunt and ambles over to the oven. It's more like a waddle with the thirty pound bulk of turkey she's carrying. She opens the oven door with her foot and slides the bird in before slamming the door shut with a solid bang. "We're doing this thing. If Mom and Dad can save the city, we can save Thanksgiving. We're Queens. This is what we do."

It's said with the kind of force and emphasis that is incredibly reminiscent of their father, but unlike with him, Ellie can sense the uneasiness beneath her sister's voice. Nate doesn't, though. He nods along like her word is golden and Ellie isn't about to rob him of that certainty.

"Okay," Ellie agrees, steeling herself for the rest of the day ahead. She rolls up her sleeves, about to grab some cleaner because the counter is covered in grossness before something occurs to her. She points at the oven. "Weren't we supposed to stuff it first?"

"Like I know?" Jules asks. "One thing at a time. Turkeys take forever to cook. We can worry about stuffing later. How many people really like it anyhow?"

Ellie and Nate both raise their hands.

"Everyone other than you, Jules," Nate informs her, making Ellie snicker where she's grabbing some Lysol and a sponge.

"Then you can make it," Jules counters with a one-shouldered shrug. "Ellie, what are you doing?"

"Disinfecting the counter," Ellie replies. "There's raw turkey juice everywhere and I don't want to die of salmonella."

"Which is why we didn't call Grandma Donna," Nate notes under his breath, cleaning yet _another_ potato. He's not even to the dicing stage of working on them and Ellie thinks it's possible they're going to have the cleanest mashed potatoes ever.

"Alright, what's next?" Jules asks.

"Don't we need a thermometer in the turkey?" Ellie asks. "Should we set a timer or something?"

"For half the day?" Jules makes a face. "We can just check it later. You want to do the green beans or the cranberries?"

"Cranberries," Ellie replies without even thinking. She's seen her dad prepare this part of the meal a solid dozen times before, and it's one of her favorites because it smells sweeter than the green beans. For as long as she can remember, she's spent every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter sitting on the counter next to him, chattering away and stealing bites as he works. She's pretty sure she knows how it goes. She at least knows there's juice of some kind and a lot of chopping and stirring.

"Have at it," Jules tells her, handing her a bag of fresh cranberries.

What follows is several hours that become a comedy of errors.

Ellie burns the cranberries because she forgets to add shallots in early enough and ends up cooking them too long with too little stirring.

Jules figures that milk - skim milk - will surely work just as well as heavy cream in making the green bean casserole. Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Nate's hesitance with the electric hand mixer on the potatoes means he sends bits of fluffy potatoey goodness flying everywhere, including Jules' hair, which is a thing Ellie laughs about right up until her sister throws a glob of it at her.

The pies, at least, are fine, but that's because their dad had baked them throughout the week. The croissants are good old fashioned Pillsbury, as their mom had picked them up, so those turn out thoroughly edible, if a bit crunchy on the edges.

All of that is recoverable, if a bit on the messy side.

It's the turkey that's the problem.

Will finally calls and says he and his roommates are on their way over, prompting the younger kids to take the bird out of the oven. It _looks_ okay, and at the sight of the seemingly-nicely-cooked turkey, Ellie and Nate high-five while Jules just smiles at it.

Ellie had given into temptation and checked the news twenty minutes prior, finding the parade ending and very much unexploded. Her mom had called just moments later, checking in on them with typical mom-levels of worry and reassurance. After swearing to her they were alright, she told Ellie that everyone on the team was fine, the bombs were defused and the would-be-parade-bombers in custody.

All in all, it's a solid win.

Except, perhaps, for dinner.

The cranberries are salvageable and if they drain the green beans they might still be okay. A little _soggy_ , but still completely edible. There's less in the way of potatoes than they'd like, but Will and his friends will just have to have one serving each. They'll survive. And besides, Will can whip up some mac and cheese when he gets here if they need more food.

Everything's _fine_ … up until they try to carve the turkey.

It's fully cooked - so says the thermometer anyhow - and it _smells_ pretty good, considering. It looks like any other turkey. Maybe not as good as their dad's, but still perfectly turkey-like.

When Jules goes to cut it, though, it practically flakes apart.

"What the fuck?" Jules asks. She scowls, grabbing a small bit of meat and popping it in her mouth. It doesn't even take her a second before she's pulling a face. "Why is it this dry? This is dumb! We did everything right!"

"Um…" Nate pauses nervously a few steps away where he's wiping mashed potatoes off of the upper kitchen cabinets. His eyes switch between Ellie and Jules for a moment. "We might have forgotten to put tin foil over it."

" _What_?" Jules asks, a dangerous edge to her voice. "What tin foil?"

"There's a lot going on, okay?" Nate retorts, his voice rising. "I'm sorry. I think I forgot to say anything."

"Nate…" Ellie sighs, rubbing her hand over her brow. Based on Jules' visceral reaction, she's not really all that sure she even wants to try the turkey at this point. But her frustration paired with Jules' obvious annoyance has to be daunting to Nate - who looks like he's ready to wilt after the very long day they've all had - so Ellie hefts a big sigh and puts a hand on her big sister's shoulder. "It's okay. It's done. We can still fix this."

"How?" Jules asks. "Try it, Ellie. Tell me if you want to eat that."

Ellie eyes the turkey like a nemesis worthy of an arrow to the gut. If only this were as easy a problem to slay. "Gravy," she announces, sounding slightly maniacal as she looks at her siblings. "Gravy will save us. We still have, like, twenty minutes. We just need a boatload of gravy… Literally. But we can do this. No, we will do this. I will _not_ be defeated by Thanksgiving dinner!"

"Elle…" Jules says with hesitance, giving the bird a skeptical look. "I'm pretty sure we've failed this turkey."

"No!" Ellie protests, rounding on her sister and shaking a finger at her in defiance. "No. I refuse to believe that. We're salvaging this Thanksgiving dinner. If anyone deserves a nice, happy family dinner, it's our parents. With everything they do? All they give up? They deserve this, and I'm _not_ quitting on them now."

Jules wants to argue it, but she hesitates, because Ellie is right and she knows it. Nate, too, freezes, his brow furrowing as he eyes the mess they've made, both in the meals they've created and the wreck they left in their wake.

Ellie pushes her point.

"This might not be our tastiest Thanksgiving dinner ever, but it's one _we_ made, one _we_ prepared for them, all three of us," she says, waving at her siblings. "Not because we had to, but because they deserve it. _We_ deserve it. We're giving this our best effort. And it's not because we're chefs in the making. It's because we're thankful, for our family, for everything our parents do to keep us and our city safe. Okay?" Ellie doesn't wait for a response as she stomps her foot and adds, "So, God help me, you are both going to help me make a boatload of gravy to drown this stupid turkey in."

All in all, Ellie thinks she pulls off a rousing speech a whole lot better than her sister. It's almost ridiculous how important this suddenly seems, but it _does_ and she's going to save this dinner no matter what it takes. She must have inherited some of her father's inspirational abilities, she thinks, because she finds both Jules nodding back at her and Nate following suit, watching Jules and taking her lead.

"Good," Ellie says. "Then let's do this."

Making the gravy, she finds out, is intensely painstaking.

All three of them crowd around the burner, watching the brown liquid thicken and bubble slightly in front of them.

They will not mess this up. They _won't_.

None of them talk, and they don't even notice when the front door opens until William strides into the kitchen with his roommates. They don't see Will's jaw dropping as he takes in the utter mess they've made. Ellie isn't thinking about cleaning yet, but Nate's cursory wipe-down of the cabinets had made a very small dent in the disaster.

"Hey," Will greets, dropping a small cooler on the kitchen counter. Mac and cheese, no doubt. It really is the only thing Will can cook, but it's delicious and Ellie is ridiculously grateful for his limited culinary abilities. "Happy Thanksgiving. Where are-"

"Shhhh," Jules hushes, waving a hand his direction without looking toward him. Ellie spares him a glance to find her older brother thoroughly amused by the sight of the three of them lined up in front of the stove. "Just give us a minute. This is almost done."

"Did you need help?" Will steps around a pile of… _something_ on the floor.

"Can you uncook a turkey?" Ellie asks him, her voice steeped in sarcasm.

Will laughs shortly. "There's no way Dad overcooked the turkey." He looks around the room again, the realization dawning. "In fact, there's no way Dad made this much of a mess…"

"He got called in for… work," Ellie says vaguely as she spies Will's roommates and coworkers, Javi and Elliot, lingering in the doorway. She smiles. "So we cooked."

Will's eyebrows shoot right up to his hairline. " _You_ cooked?" he asks, standing a little straighter. He looks around again. "Why didn't you guys call me?"

"Can you cook?" Nate asks, looking over at him.

"I wouldn't call it a strength, but I'm not totally clueless," Will replies. "You should've called. I'm here for you guys, you know that."

If she were doing something more than half-listening, Ellie might feel a little guilty about not calling her older brother to come help, but she barely registers his voice because the gravy looks like gravy and that kinda takes precedent at the moment.

"We need to try this," Ellie declares. "I think it's done. Does it look done?"

"Looks like gravy to me," Jules agrees, grabbing a spoon. "You want to do the honors or shall I?"

"Let Ellie," Nate interjects. "She's the one who thought we could save this. It only seems fair."

It seems like Jules agrees because she dips the spoon into the gravy and holds it out for Ellie to taste. Ellie blows on it for a moment first, and then, with great hesitance, she slurps a bit off the end of the spoon.

Jules and Nate both look like they're holding their breaths as they await her verdict. Ellie can't help the grin that spreads across her face because, _thank God,_ it tastes exactly like gravy. Blessed, wonderful, _moist_ gravy.

"Yeah?" Jules asks with a laugh.

"Yeah," Ellie confirms with a blinding smile. "It's perfect."

Nate gives a little triumphant fist-pump that's way more restrained than their mother would have done, but still echoes strongly of her. "We saved Thanksgiving!" he declares proudly.

"Good job," Will tells them with an amused smile, pulling Nate in for a hug. He ruffles Ellie's hair and instantly regrets it when his hand lands in dried mashed potatoes. Or it might cranberries from when Ellie had rubbed her arm over her head. It's really a toss-up, which should be horrifying but Ellie can't bring herself to care right now. William wipes his hand on her shoulder, making Ellie laugh as she elbows him. "How about you guys let us carve this bird and clean up a bit. You three should probably go… find clothes that aren't covered in food."

Jules pulls her shirt out to look down and inspect it. "I probably smell like turkey guts."

"It's definitely not your best perfume," Will tells her.

"Har har," Jules replies, but the smile she gives him is very real, and it's the perfect ending to a day that really didn't start out all the perfect. "I'm sure there's some turkey giblet somewhere just for you."

Will doesn't get the chance to respond because this time they all definitely hear the front door opening, followed by the low murmurs of their parents. Jules has enough time to stiffen, but Nate barely gets the chance for his eyes go wide in alarm - he's _very_ aware of the mess they've left behind - and Ellie turns just in time to see their mom hurrying into the kitchen.

"Oh…" she says, coming to a dead stop, her eyes taking it all in. And it's _a lot_. She slowly covers her mouth as she finishes with, "My god."

Their dad is right behind her and his jaw positively drops.

Ellie's pretty sure the original plan had been for them to get the food all made and set out, prepared and presentable for dinner, while leaving themselves enough time to clean up the mess they'd made. They might not have _talked_ about this specifically, but she's sure they all thought it wasn't going to take this much time.

There's dishes of prepared food littered here and there, along with… everything else. It looks like a tornado swept through, leaving white and red and green smears everywhere, all topped off with a really dry turkey that isn't soaking in gravy yet.

"Surprise," Ellie says weakly.

Before anyone can respond, the front door opens and Ellie doesn't have to be in the foyer to know it's the Diggles. Despite the very real mess she's currently standing in, she still feels a little thrill of anticipation at the thought of seeing Sara. But that feeling is quickly overshadowed when her dad steps more fully into the kitchen, wide eyes taking all of it in.

"Wow," is all he can say.

He's got a small cut on his cheek that's new, but past that, he looks fine. Tired, but fine. And… surprised. Ellie's never had a problem reading her dad before, but right now she can't see anything past the look of bewildered amazement on his face, and she's not sure if it's the good or bad kind of amazement. He just got done stopping a madman from trying to bomb the Thanksgiving parade, and now he's stepped into another literal disaster. Now that they're actually faced with their parents, the whole 'rah rah' rousing speech she'd just given has lost some of its potency.

It's still there, though, and Ellie grabs hold of it.

"We wanted to make you guys dinner," she says. "It didn't seem fair for you guys to work so hard _and_ save Thanksgiving, too. So we handled the Thanksgiving part. It was Nate's idea, but all of this… a collective effort."

"I wanted to order pizza," Jules says.

"Will brought mac and cheese," Nate adds, like that will somehow make their lackluster attempt all better.

There's a commotion in the entryway just before a herd of footsteps make their way to the kitchen and then it's Uncle Digg's voice saying, "Holy crap." Ellie can't help herself - she glances between her father and mother, spying her uncle. She catches a glimpse of Sara's legs, but she can't see her face behind her father's broad back.

Nobody gets the chance to add to Diggle's response, though, because one second there's silence, and the next her mother bursts out laughing.

It's a full-bodied laugh, one Ellie hasn't heard coming from her in a long time. The sound is muffled behind her hand but then it becomes too much to contain and she covers her heart instead, shaking her head. And, like it's the permission he needed, her father is quick to follow. His shoulders shake in silence and then he's laughing, too.

"You guys are amazing," their mother says, stepping further into the kitchen. Jules lets out a tiny exhale, and Ellie wonders if she realizes she'd been holding her breath while Nate practically collapses into Will's side. Her mother smiles at Will's roommates in greeting before she comes over to her messy children. She's shaking her head still - in _amazement_ \- as she grins at Jules, plucking something orange out of her hair. Jules blushes despite herself, ducking her head. The grin transfers to Nate and then to Ellie, who can't help but return it just as fully. "Thank you for this," her mom says. "This is the perfect Thanksgiving."

And with that, she gathers all three of them into a hug, smiling at Will over Ellie's shoulder. Ellie and Nate hug her back just as tightly, and even though Jules huffs in exasperation, saying, "Mom, come on," she lets herself get sucked into it as well. Ellie's not sure, but she wonders if something happened at the parade today. They stopped the bomber, but that doesn't mean a hundred other things couldn't have gone wrong, too. Her parents just sound so _grateful_.

Their dad is right behind her and he reaches over his wife, ruffling Ellie's hair just like William had. When he comes back with something on his hands he wasn't expecting, both she and Will laugh. He pulls Ellie into his side and tugs on Jules' hair, grinning at Nate where he's tucked back up against Will with his mom's hand on his shoulder.

"You guys did great," he says. "It smells fantastic."

Jules snorts. "Right."

"I'm serious," he says. "It does."

"Yeah, well, wait 'til you try the turkey."

"I bet I'll love it," he replies, leaning over to kiss the side of Jules' head before doing the same to Ellie.

"I made the mashed potatoes," Nate says.

Their mother grins as Oliver reaches around William to ruffle his hair this time. "And I can't wait to try them."

"They're very clean," Ellie adds, something that makes both her parents dissolve into laughter again, probably because her statement is the antithesis to the mess in the kitchen.

Ultimately, the turkey isn't that great, even with the gravy, but no one seems to care much.

Their dining room table overflows with family and friends and a huge variety of food made with inconsistent quality. Grandma Moira and Grandpa Walter had ordered a ham - something that would have been nice to know a few hours ago - and Aunt Thea and Uncle Roy bring cinnamon apples. Grandma Donna pitches in with a spinach salad, something even she can't mess up, and Lyla had brought with her the best sweet potatoes Ellie's ever tasted.

It's not the food that matters, though. Not in the least. It's the company, the effort, the laughter that surrounds their dinner table, the way Jules grins as she sneaks Buster bits of overcooked turkey under the table and how Grandma Moira chides Nate for taking so many croissants and how her mom leans in close to her dad for the entire dinner, both of them sneaking affectionate looks at each other.

So, even though Will gets a piece of ashy mulch with his turkey and Aunt Thea winds up picking blackened bits of sugar out of her cranberries, Ellie decides that in spite of the food not being all that great, it's still the best Thanksgiving dinner she could have asked for.


	10. August 2014

"Is this too much? Should I lose the jacket?"

He's _jittery_. Anxious nerves dance over the surface of his skin as he fidgets with the buttons of his suit. Oliver smoothes his hands over them, erasing any wrinkles in his material… and then he undoes the buttons for the third time.

Felicity doesn't stop him; she _hasn't_ stopped him. She just straightens his lapels and looks at him with amused sympathy, her fingers curling around the edge of his collar.

"He's six," Oliver emphasizes, like this is explanation enough. And it is. In his head anyhow. He shakes his jacket out, ignoring how his hands shake. "He's about to start first grade. What if he thinks the jacket's ridiculous? Or worse, what if it intimidates him? I don't want to scare him. He's my son."

 _What if he doesn't like me?_

Felicity hears the unspoken words and she steps closer, flattening her hands against his chest as she smiles up at him. It's so easy, so confident and genuine, that it clears his head for a second, calming him down, bringing his heart back down to somewhere near a normal rate.

His eyes never leave hers as he takes a deep breath.

"Exactly," she tells him, tapping her fingers against his shirt. "He's your _son_. This is as big a moment for him as it is for you."

The words send a spike of anxiety the size of a skyscraper right through his chest, doing nothing to dull his concerns. They actually make it _worse_. He's so desperate to make a good impression. He _needs_ to make a good impression, it's an actual driving need that's eating him up from the inside out. So much has changed in his life, an entire lifetime's worth, and he needs that to keep going. For the first time in a long time, he finally feels he's in control of his own happiness. He chose Felicity, their baby and Ellie, and he's choosing to meet his son, to hopefully become part of his life.

If William will have him.

Oliver's chest tightens to the point of pain.

They'd had Ellie for such a short time, but it was more than enough to show him how badly he wants to be a dad. Not that that's what today is about, not at all. He misses his Ellie-bug so badly that sometimes it hurts to do anything - much less breathe, speak and move - but this isn't about her. It's only been a few months since they lost her and while yes, he misses her with a fierceness that's absolutely gutting at times, he's not looking to replace her. He couldn't even if he tried and he knows that. He wouldn't _want_ to. Ellie is too precious, too special. Even the _idea_ of supplanting her makes him sick. But this isn't that. This is meeting his son, his little boy. It's completely separate from Ellie.

He and Felicity had gotten to the park early because Oliver had been an uncoordinated mess ever since Samantha had agreed to the meeting yesterday. It'd gotten worse when they'd woken up - he kept knocking things over in the apartment like he couldn't control his hands, like he didn't know what to do with himself, like he hadn't spent the last several years carefully honing his body for survival.

It's amazing that all it takes to throw him off his game is the prospect of meeting an elementary schooler. If only ARGUS had known that a few years ago. The thought has him letting out a soft huff before ice trickles down his spine at the notion of Waller knowing about William before he had.

"Oliver," Felicity says, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinks at her, and just like before, the small smile on her face soothes him. "He's going to love you," she continues. "Believe me, as a girl who grew up hoping her dad would pop out of the woodwork at every turn. Just being here - being _you_ and wanting to be a part of his life - that's going to be more than enough for him. You're already fulfilling his dreams just by showing up."

The urge to say, " _I'd have always wanted to be a part of his life_ " wells up inside him, as it has every single time she points that out to him, but he bites it back, just like always. That may be true now, but he's not sure how William could have fit into his life five years ago. Even two years ago. Hell, six _months_ ago.

It's always been the truth, when he's said he'd gone to hell and back during those five years he was away. But the places he's been, the things he's done, the trials he's undergone… it's all part of him now, it's all become integral to who he's become. He had to go through all of that to become the man he is today. The person he was before couldn't possibly have appreciated the magnitude of what it means to have his son in his life, not like he can now. He couldn't have known how important it is, how meaningful, without seeing the darkest parts of humanity to give him something to weigh it against. So while he's still upset - and _angry_ \- that he hadn't known about William, a small, secret part of him is glad. Because this is his life now, and he has Felicity and he's getting the chance to meet his son.

He wouldn't change that for the world.

Back when Samantha had first told him she was pregnant, he hadn't been ready. He'd known that then and he knows it now. But he would have tried. Looking back on it, he can't help but wonder how very different things would have gone if his mother hadn't interfered. He never would have gotten on The Gambit, that's for sure. He'd have never become The Arrow, never set out to save the city. The Glades would have fallen, so much more spectacularly than it really had.

He never would have met Felicity.

 _No_.

The word echoes in his head with a finality that resonates in his chest.

No, he would have met her.

She'd have still worked at QC and he probably would have wound up with a job in middle management there, spending nine-to-five in a ten-by-ten office with a brass-plated nameplate on his desk. He'd have hated that life. He probably would have felt as unfulfilled as he had all those years ago when he had gotten on the Gambit. But he'd have done it for his son. And somehow… somehow he'd have met Felicity. Somehow, she'd have still brought her particular brand of joy to his life. He has to believe that.

How things might have unfolded between them is another question entirely, but she would be in his life. Even if he'd tried to make things work with Samantha, or if he'd stuck with Laurel, or if he'd run to Sara… he has to believe that somehow - some _way_ \- he would have met Felicity.

It's all a moot point anyhow. Because he has Felicity now and she's by his side, has been from day one, and she will be for the rest of his life.

As if to cement the thoughts flying through his head, Oliver grabs her hips, pulling her closer, needing to feel her. He sighs, dipping his forehead so it nearly touches hers.

"I just…" He wants a thousand things and he doesn't know how to put them into words. Felicity waits, sliding her hands up to the sides of his neck. Her touch is comforting and with another sigh, he just speaks his mind. "I want to be everything he deserves, I guess."

Felicity grins, a smile stretching damned near ear to ear. She presses her forehead to his and shakes her head. "That's just one of the things that makes you a fantastic father, Oliver. And you always will be. To all your children."

"All _our_ children," he says automatically, because any of his children are hers too. He hadn't been lying when he told Samantha they were a package deal, and his mind isn't changing about that. He'd been unwavering on that point even when Felicity had gawked after he'd relayed that part of the conversation to her. It might have been a different discussion had their lives and their relationship unfolded differently, but after everything they've been through over the last several months, it's no longer even a question. What's his is hers.

Especially with their first little one on the way.

Oliver slides his thumbs over the curves of her hips. Her stomach is still nearly flat. She's just past her first trimester and there's only the scarcest hint of a bump, but he swears it's just a bit larger every day. She does, too, but with an entirely different tone, one that makes him smile even as she grouses at her reflection. He can't wait to see their child grow, watch as the evidence of their little girl's existence makes itself evident in the changes to Felicity's body.

"How about we leave the semantics for another day," Felicity says, her voice soft but tight. She doesn't like the idea of imposing herself in a place where she doesn't think she belongs. But she _does_ belong there, even if she thinks she doesn't.

It's already becoming a drawn out battle between them. She's not his wife - _yet_ \- and she's not William's mother or stepmother. He's pretty sure even if they were married already, they'd be having the exact same conversation. Oliver knows she will always welcome his son into their home, into their family, but she's incredibly reluctant to allow herself any kind of a role when it comes to his life. A cool aunt, maybe, but that's the nearest designation to family she'll agree to.

And the only person more uneasy about Felicity's place in William's life than Felicity is Samantha.

The meetings over coffee they'd had with her over the past few months had been, in one word, exhausting. Nerve-wracking, yes, and extremely uncomfortable the first few times? Definitely. But exhausting fit across the board. And most of it was spent watching the two of them navigate each other _._

And they way they each look at _him_? That's a study in extremes all on its own.

To Samantha, he's Ollie. He's stuck in time as that careless playboy who'd been nothing more than a few good lines designed to get her into bed - or the back seat of his car, as the case had been. To Felicity… well, he's someone else entirely. She never knew 'Ollie' from _before_ and he's so grateful for that sometimes - mostly around Samantha these last few months - that he doesn't even have the words to express it. Felicity's faith in him alone is worlds away from the doubt that colors Samantha's face, as is her trust and belief that he'll do and be the best that he can be.

To be honest, he's pretty sure that faith was the only thing that got him through that first meeting with Samantha. It's certainly the only thing getting him through this god-awful wait to meet his son now.

As if he needs the reminder. A herd of butterflies attack his stomach all over again and he closes his eyes, gnawing on the tip of his tongue, his mind racing.

"What if…"

"What if what?" Felicity prods. She slides her hand down his arm, watching the progression of her hand. Even through the dress shirt and loose jacket, her touch brings him a sense of home he knows he could never find without her.

"What if he doesn't like the present I got him?" Oliver asks. He feels foolish as hell even _thinking_ the words, but they come tumbling out now that the gate's open. "Or… what if he's mad at me? Or says he doesn't need a dad? God, what if he hates me because I left his mom?"

The question betrays the very real fact that he sort of hates himself for leaving Samantha alone and pregnant with his child. Logically he _knows_ it's irrational, but he feels it, just as if he really had left Samantha. What if William feels that way? What if all he sees when he looks at Oliver is the man who abandoned them? Samantha said she told him he'd died, which wasn't exactly a lie, but even that could open the door for, ' _Why didn't you come back to us?'_

He's going to be sick.

"He might be angry," Felicity acknowledges. Oliver recoils, his head snapping up to meet her gaze. He thinks that's the last thing he wants to hear… but then the words sink in and it actually makes him feel better. _Hearing_ it makes him feel better, knowing that his fears are entirely misplaced, that he's not losing his mind, that this won't be as easy or as hard as he's been building it up since he first found out about him. "But, Oliver, I have a question for you."

"What?"

"How are you going to feel the first time he gets detention?" she asks. "Or gets pulled over for speeding? Or comes home high or curses me out and reminds me that I'm not his mom?"

"No," Oliver starts before the words sputter to a stop. "He's… he won't…"

"He _will_ ," Felicity interrupts, cupping his cheek. She lets her fingers linger and sift through his scruff. He closes his eyes, nuzzling her palm, seeking the strength that she embodies so naturally. He revels in it, in her, in _them_ , the most solid thing he's ever known, and it makes her words easier to hear. "Maybe not those things exactly, but one day he'll disappoint you or anger you or frustrate you. He will. That's sort of what kids do."

"It doesn't matter," Oliver says, shaking his head. "He's my son. It doesn't matter. We'll work through whatever it is. I'll love him anyway."

"Exactly," Felicity says, her smile growing, pride and love and a little amusement shining back at him. "And he'll love _you_ anyway. It won't be easy, any of it, and it might take a while, but he'll love you, Oliver. Because you're his father. And because you're a pretty loveable guy, if I do say so myself."

Oliver laughs at that, and it's far more cleansing than strained. It feels good, light… the way Felicity _always_ makes him feel, even in the darkest of moments.

And this is far from that.

He suddenly sees her point with blinding clarity, and he nods, his forehead falling against hers again.

"So…" Felicity says, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet, her hands bracing on his shoulders like she's leaning on him for support, but he has the sudden sensation that it's more to keep him grounded. "Are you done with your mini-freakout then?"

Oliver huffs out another soft laugh. "Yeah," he says. "I'm good."

For now, at least.

"Great," she says, nodding just past him, "because they're here."

"What?" he blurts, his head jerking to the side so quickly he's sure he's going to strain his neck. But he doesn't feel it. No, what he feels is his breath catching in his throat and Felicity stepping back. But not too far, probably because his hand suddenly grabs her hip in a deathgrip.

Because not ten feet away is his little boy, the son he's never met.

He's _beautiful_.

It all feels like it must be a mirage. He's seen pictures - Samantha had showed him some on her phone the first time they'd met for coffee - but that's not a substitute for actually _seeing_ him in person.

William's taller than he'd thought he'd be. But, maybe he'd been thinking in terms of Ellie. Maybe he just hadn't realized quite how much growing kids do between four and six. It's been a long time since Thea was that small and he hasn't exactly had many kids in his life to compare to since then.

His _son_. That's his son. Emotion chokes him.

The boy looks up at his mother, his hand firmly in hers, and he looks every bit as apprehensive as Oliver feels. Samantha's nerves are on full display, too. She keeps using her free hand to brush imaginary lint off William's shoulder or stroke his unruly hair away from his brow.

It strikes Oliver all over again and in a much bigger wave how _complicated_ this all is. And it's going to _stay_ complicated. They'll find their new normal, him and Felicity and Samantha and William, but everything has very suddenly changed for all of them and that's so blindingly clear at the moment.

"That's him?"

William might be tall, but his voice is _so_ young. It washes over Oliver like a ripple of warm breeze. The sound of it rings in his ears as his mind tries to memorize it, the soft cadence of his boy's voice. He doesn't realize he's holding his own breath, trying to avoid the sound of his exhale from interrupting his son's words, until his lungs start to burn and he takes an unevenly slow breath.

"Yes," Samantha says, eyes darting nervously toward him, then to Felicity and back again before fixing on William with a forced smile firmly in place. "William… This is your father. Oliver. Oliver, this is William."

"Hi," Oliver says immediately, taking a big step forward, nearly tripping over the gift bag at his feet.

It strikes him suddenly that William hasn't stepped forward and the very last thing Oliver wants to do is to encroach on the boy if he's not comfortable. He forces himself to stop, fixing his feet on the grass just six or seven feet away from his son. That does nothing to quell the sudden yearning he feels taking over. He wants to hug him, wants to hold him and run his hands over the little boy's face, memorizing the curve of his cheekbones, his jawline, looking for traces of himself, his mother, his father, Ellie, the many people on his family tree he's loved over the years. But he doesn't. He doesn't want to push him, so instead Oliver shoves his hands in his pockets… and then pulls them back out.

God, he can't even figure out what to do with his _hands_ , much less with William himself.

"Hi," Oliver repeats, his voice so soft. He swallows, going for higher volume the third time. "Hi. William. It's… I'm really glad to meet you."

William doesn't respond right away, but not because he doesn't want to, Oliver's sure of that. He looks more like he's waiting for permission to speak, like he's got no idea how to navigate any of this.

Oliver can't blame him. He has no idea either.

In a move that has gratitude rushing through Oliver, Samantha lets go of William's hand and nudges his shoulder, encouraging him forward. He doesn't run excitedly for Oliver, but he doesn't scramble to grab his mother's hand back either, and that's the most Oliver could possibly have expected at this point.

It's more than he'd expected, if he's being brutally honest with himself.

Samantha nudges him again with a quiet, "Go on. I'm right here," and William takes a few tiny steps forward, lessening the gap between them but by no means closing it.

"Hi," the boy says. He's guarded, but curious, his eyes a dark blue. Now that he's closer, Oliver can see they _are_ blue - unlike Samantha's, something that strangely enough makes his heart race - they skim him, taking in details as he tries to adjust.

That's it, though. He's silent other than an uneasy shuffle of his feet against the dewy grass.

Silence reigns.

Oliver glances at Samantha for a brief second before turning to glance at Felicity where she's retreated off to the side. His eyes find hers, looking for guidance, encouragement, _something_ , and she just smiles thinly at him, nodding her head toward William.

 _This isn't the time to pay attention to me_ , she's saying. _Talk to your son_.

He doesn't know how to, though.

"Where've you been?"

Oliver's head snaps back to William, his stomach sinking. There's no malice behind the question, no accusation. But there is pain, an innocent kind of pain that hurts far more than Oliver could have ever predicted.

He hurt his son before even knowing he existed, and no matter what happened or what happens in the future, Oliver will never forgive himself for that.

But he is prepared. Sort of. He and Samantha had talked about this, one of many topics they'd covered as their coffees had gone cold. Felicity had sat at his side with a hand on his bouncing knee, trying to spread her own brand of calm through him over the halting words. It hadn't really worked, but he'd appreciated the effort.

"I was in a bad accident," Oliver says. "It was on a boat when your mom was pregnant with you. I spent a very long time on an island. Nobody knew I was alive, not even your mom. They couldn't find me and I didn't have a way to get home."

William mulls that over, his brow furrowing as he weighs the words. They fit with his mother's story and - conveniently - with the truth.

"Sort of like Neverland?" William asks after a minute, trying to categorize his father's experiences in terms he'll understand. "I mean, they didn't think the kids were dead, but they were sort of stuck there. Is it like that?"

Oliver can't help but smile at the simplistic breakdown. "Sort of," he agrees. "I spent a while not wanting to grow up, too. But I didn't have any pixie dust."

"Were there pirates?" William asks.

 _Yes._

"No," Oliver tells him.

"Captain Hook?"

 _Well, there'd been Slade…_

"No," Oliver replies with a shake of his head. "No fairies either. Or crocodiles. But there was a shark…"

William's eyes go big at that. "Really?"

"Really," Oliver confirms.

William takes a step closer, and Oliver stops breathing for a second as William asks, "Did it bite you?"

"It, uh… it did," Oliver tells him.

Another step. "Did that hurt?"

Oh… _yes_. Yes, it had. Although compared to the rest of it, that pain had been miniscule. There'd been a whole lot of years with a whole lot of pain, things that will stay with him, one way or another, for the rest of his life.

But this will, too. His son closing the gap between them will, too. It feels like balance. It feels _good_.

"It did hurt." Oliver wanted to step even closer, but he doesn't, wanting to keep the choice in William's hands. "But," he said, his voice lowering to a confidential tone. "I think it hurt the shark more."

"Cool," William breathes out, clearly impressed.

It sends a little thrill through Oliver to see that, and he immediately wonders if Starling City has an aquarium, or if maybe Samantha would let him take William out to Coast City for a day. If his little boy likes sharks, he will _find_ a place where they can go see sharks.

"So," William continues. "How'd you get off the island?"

"Luck," Oliver tells him. "There was a boat nearby, so I lit a fire. They saw the smoke and rescued me."

"That is lucky," William agrees with tremendous seriousness. "When did you get back?"

Oliver freezes, his stomach dropping again. He takes in a ragged breath before he answers. This is, by far, a worse question than the last and he feels considerably less prepared for it, despite all the rehearsed words in his head.

"Almost two years ago," he finally says. He refuses to lie to his son, about this, about _anything_ , but he also knows the answer confuses and hurts him. Which _sucks_. William frowns, clearly aware of how long two years is and that his father had come back a while ago, so Oliver asks, "Know how I said your mom thought I was dead?"

William doesn't respond right away, and just when Oliver's about to look to Samantha for guidance, he nods, a slow, cautious nod that has a boulder settling in Oliver's chest. He knew this was coming, though. And he's not going to lie to him, no matter how much easier it'd be for Oliver.

"Well," Oliver says, "I thought you were dead, too."

Samantha shifts uneasily behind William, clasping her hands together. They'd agreed on how to approach this with him, but despite that, she still wrings her fingers tightly, looking very much like she'd prefer to take her son and leave, to avoid all of this.

"Why?" William asks.

"Before you were even born," Oliver explains. "Back when I got on the boat, there was a time we'd thought you died."

"That can happen?" William asks, glancing back at his mother for confirmation. She nods and he looks back to Oliver.

"Yeah," Oliver tells him. "So… I didn't even know there was a _you_ to come find, buddy." He swallows, tears burning his eyes as he looks at his son. "I would have, William, if I'd known. I promise."

William's afraid to believe him. It's plain as day on his face. But he _wants_ to. This is everything he'd hoped to hear, but never thought he would. He's little still, barely out of kindergarten, but he's aware enough to know that something's been missing, something important. He's undoubtedly seen other families, seen kids with _both_ parents present, and had been keenly aware that all he had was one.

It simultaneously breaks Oliver and bolsters him to know that he caused this, but he can also fill the cracks he's left behind, mend the scars on his son's heart.

And he _will_.

He'll do anything for this little boy. Like with Ellie, like with the little girl Felicity's carrying now, his children have fast become his priority. Above himself, above the city, above his mission and his promise to his father.

This is a part of his mission, a part of that promise.

Doing right by his kids _is_ righting his father's wrongs.

Oliver crouches down to William's level and holds out his hand.

He hears Felicity suck in a quick breath where she's standing behind him. She knows, better than anyone, what his son's rejection would do to him, how terribly that would impact him.

But it doesn't matter, because after a moment of staring his father's fingers, William takes a tentative step closer and reaches out. He rests his hand on Oliver's, his fingers so _small_ and unsure, but it does nothing to take away from the rightness of this moment.

Oliver immediately clasps his other hand over the top of the boy's.

"I promise you, William. I _swear_. I'd have been here sooner if I'd known," Oliver vows, meeting the boy's eyes. Samantha shifts where she stands behind William again. It's taken months for her to agree to this meeting and he knows full well that she doesn't really trust him to stick around yet. But he will. He absolutely will. "I want to be a part of your life, William. I want to be your dad. I'm not going anywhere."

It's exactly the right thing to say, exactly what William needs to hear. He's so trusting and he's so willing to give Oliver that chance. That knowledge alone is enough for Oliver to vow to himself that he will always, _always_ be there for his son, for all his children, no matter what. He knows what it's like to have a father who isn't really present, to have a mother who was there but kept other priorities. He's not going to be like that. _Ever._

William's eyes well up and his shoulders shake as he nods, his lip quivering.

The sight has tears blurring Oliver's vision and he blinks to clear them, not wanting to miss a single thing.

"Could I…" Oliver starts, stopping to clear his throat. "Would you mind if I gave you a hug?"

William doesn't reply in words. No, he drops Oliver's hands and practically dives for his father's arms instead, a bundle of boy barreling right into him.

Oliver's knees threaten to give out underneath him as the weight of what's happening slams into him.

He's not sure which of them needed this more.

The little boy clings to him like he's never going to let go and Oliver's no better, hugging his son close, as close as he dares. It's not the same as with Ellie. It's special in an entirely different way. Not _less_ or _more_ , but different. It will be with the new baby, too. There's more than enough love in him to share between all of his kids. But it's _because_ of Ellie, he realizes. He's holding his son in his arms, and he knows full well that he wouldn't have this right now if not for her. The ability to be a part of his son's life… that's something Ellie gave him, one last parting gift from the amazing little girl who gave him so, _so_ much.

"I've got you, bud," Oliver murmurs to the little boy who's shaking with tears against his shoulder, fingers clenching at his shirt like he's afraid Oliver's a dream that's going to dissolve underneath his fingertips. "I'm here. I've got you."

Part of Oliver wonders if that isn't the other way around. William's affection, the warm press of this little boy - _his_ little boy - holding on to him like a lifeline buoys him in ways he hadn't realized were possible. He's missed being a father tremendously since Ellie left them. But, then William's probably always missed having a father.

So maybe they've got each other.

Oliver's eyes slip shut as he savors the feel of his son curled up against him. He tries to cage in the tears that well up in his eyes, but one sneaks out, slipping down his cheek. William seems so much smaller now, with Oliver's arms wrapped around him. Tall or not, he's just six years old and he is dwarfed in his father's embrace. It makes Oliver feel… indescribable.

It makes him feel like a father. Like his child's hero. It's the best feeling in the world.

Cradling the back of the boy's head against his shoulder, Oliver spares a look up at Samantha. The strain on her face is evident, as are the tears she's fighting to keep back herself. She wants this for her son. She _does_. But she also doesn't trust it, doesn't trust _him_. Oliver can't blame her, but the way to work past that - the only way to work past it - is to prove to her over and over and over again that he's trustworthy. That he's here and he's staying. That he will never let their son down.

But that doesn't make it any easier on her now.

Her gaze is fixed on the back of her son's head for a long moment, a shaking hand pressed against her mouth, the other wrapped around her midsection. After a second, though, she glances at him. The vulnerability and absolute terror is clear as day. Because how will she fix this if he fails? How will she help her little boy put the pieces back together if his father reverts to form and disappears from their lives all of a sudden? She'll never have to find that out, but he knows those are the questions running through her mind. He can respect that and he can respect the risk she took in allowing them to meet.

' _Thank you_ ,' he mouths to her.

She nods back - hard, almost manic in her agreement - but it does nothing to make the fear in her eyes fade away.

Felicity, though… Somehow Felicity helps, the tiniest of bits.

He almost misses it because he's so focused on William, but Felicity makes her way over to Samantha. She's hesitant, which is absolutely appropriate because Samantha has not been her biggest fan. The idea of a second mother figure in her son's life, regardless of title, has _not_ made her happy. It's understandable. He would have been tremendously displeased had he found another man had taken up the role of father to William in his absence. But it seems like maybe, at least in some small way, there's an inkling of unity between the two women.

Felicity puts her hand on Samantha's shoulder, a gentle motion of friendly comfort that doesn't do anything other than support her. To his surprise, Samantha unwraps her arm from around her midsection to clasp her fingers over Felicity's. They talk, in quiet tones, saying words he can't hear but wearing expressions that speak loudly.

They'll be fine. The four of them. The _five_ of them, when you count Felicity's growing baby bump. They'll be fine. Somehow. They'll manage. Maybe they'll _more_ than manage.

"Daddy?"

The single word cuts through him, a balm to his soul, reassurance to his embattled mind.

Oliver's eyes slip shut again as he fights to keep still, to keep from giving into the emotions bursting in his chest.

The power behind that single word is tremendous. Oliver's shoulders hunch as he curls around his son, dipping his head to breathe in his child's scent. He's all lemon and fresh cut grass and somewhere in Oliver's mind he registers that mix of smells as William, as his child, filing it away before pulling back slightly to look him in the eye.

"Yeah, buddy?" he asks, his voice uneven, but happy.

"Thank you for finding me," William tells him. "I'm really glad you came home."

"Me too," Oliver replies. His voice breaks and he smiles, though he can't trap the tears in anymore. It's too much. It's the exact opposite of what he'd feared and he can't honestly believe he's this lucky, but he's not about to take it for granted.

Somewhere in the background, Samantha's turned away from them. He can tell she's crying from the steady shake of her shoulders, but it's noiseless. Whether that's in deference to the moment between her son and his father or just the way she is, he can't say. But this is a life changing moment for all of them and he understands, at least theoretically, how monumental this must really be for her. She hasn't turned away from Felicity, he's glad to see. They aren't friends, not by a longshot, but their hands remain clasped over Samantha's shoulder and his son's mother keeps nodding as Felicity talks lowly to her. It helps, he thinks. At least he hopes it does.

Felicity's an unlikely bridge between them - him and his son's mother - but she's a vital one.

He wonders how he managed without her at all in the other timeline.

He finds he'd prefer not to think about it.

Oliver clears his throat, smiling at William. "I, uh… I brought you something."

The boy sniffles, dries his eyes on his sleeve and rubs at his nose. It's a redirect for sure, something for them to focus on beyond the overwhelming immediate emotions, but the way Samantha turns and looks at him tells him he definitely should have talked to her about it first.

"I told you I didn't want you buying him things," she says, as both her and Felicity's hands fall away from her shoulder.

Oliver wilts slightly, his face dropping, because she _had_ , but he'd sort of assumed she meant _big_ things. Like a puppy or one of those kid-sized cars. She didn't want him buying his son's love. And he gets that. He _agrees_ with it, even. But that's not what this is.

"It's not…" Oliver shakes his head, struggling to find the right words. "Sam, I'm not…"

He can't find the words he wants to say, though, not in front of his son anyhow. ' _I'm not trying to buy his love'_ is a terrible thing to say in front of a kid and the very last thing he wants to do is get in any kind of an argument with his son's mother in front of the little boy. After all, she's the only parent he's ever known.

But Felicity seems to have the words he lacks, because she leans toward Samantha and whispers something to her - what the present is, no doubt - and Samantha's shoulders sag as she gives Oliver a warning look.

"Oliver, if you don't…" Her voice trails off as she shakes her head, but Oliver hears the rest of it anyway: _If you don't follow through with him… if you aren't there for him… if you break your promises to him, I will never forgive you_. _There are no second chances here._

 _Don't make him love you if you can't love him back_.

"Just… give me a chance?" he asks, because it's the only thing he can do. "Please. I'm not… I swear to you - to _both_ of you - I'm not going anywhere."

She doesn't want to trust him, and for a split second, Oliver wonders if he's about to lose all of it. If a stupid idea is going to be the thing that loses him everything he just got. He stares at Samantha, willing her to believe him. He feels Felicity's eyes on him, feels her support, and it grounds him, gives him the strength for his gaze to never stray from Samantha's.

After a long moment, she finally looks at William. One look at her son's hopeful face sways her and he spots the moment her resolve crumbles to a million pieces.

When she looks back at him, it's with the knowledge that he's got her son's whole heart in his hands and she's so very scared that he won't treat it gently.

But he will. He always will.

Samantha finally nods and he whispers, "Okay." He returns her nod, hoping she can see his gratitude, before he looks back at William. He takes hold of the opportunity his mother has given him to prove himself with both hands, the first of so many steps that will earn her trust. Letting go of William with one hand, he reaches behind himself for the gift bag he'd nearly tripped over before handing it to his son.

"It's… it's not a big thing," he says, wiping his sweaty palm against his pant leg. "And maybe you already have it, but I thought… Well… Just open it."

God, he's a ball of nerves right now.

William looks down at the bag for a moment before looking back up at him.

"You didn't need to get me a present," he says.

"I know," Oliver tells him. "I wanted to. It's just… you'll see. I hope you like it."

The tentative air around William suddenly disappears as he digs in. The tissue paper crinkles as he searches for what's inside it, and when he finds it, he pauses. William slowly pulls the gift out, dropping the bag to the ground.

He stares at the baseball and pair of mitts that sit in his hand - one so much larger than the other, completely engulfing the smaller of the two - with big, tear-filled eyes and a huge smile.

In that moment,Oliver knows he got it right.

"I thought," Oliver says, his voice rough. "I thought that maybe we could play catch together."

William nods, staring down at the mitts and ball for a moment before looking back up. "I'd really like that, Daddy," he replies.

It's the second time he's called him 'Daddy' and it hits Oliver just as hard as it did the first time. There's a hint of hesitance about it both times, like he's trying it out, testing if he's allowed to use that word. Oliver cups the boy's face, rubs his thumb over his soft little cheek - there's still some baby fat left in his features, but it's fading fast and Oliver can see hints of the adolescent he'll become peeking through. There is nothing in this moment that he wants more than for his son to call him 'Daddy.' Absolutely nothing.

"Me too, son," he replies, the word slipping out naturally.

William pulls the gloves apart, handing Oliver his before he slips his hand into the smaller glove. He flexes the stiff leather before offering a blinding smile that goes right to Oliver's heart.

"Did your daddy play catch with you?" he asks.

"No," Oliver tells him, thinking back to his own childhood and the very transient nature of his father's influence on his life. "No, he definitely didn't. He was a pretty busy guy. He didn't really have the time."

"But you do?" William asks, all excitement tinged with nerves. "You have time?"

"I'll always make time for you, William," he promises. " _Always_."

If he'd thought his earlier smiles had been blinding, he was wrong, because _this_ one nearly knocks him right over. William crushes him in a hug that knocks the wind right out of him, pinning the larger mitt and ball between them. But there are no tears this time, just complete and total happiness.

Knowing he did that, he gave his son that joy, is the best feeling he's had in months.

"My dad loved me," Oliver adds, thinking back, "but he wasn't around a lot."

It's another way he'll make up for his father's mistakes - by refusing to repeat them. He vows right here and now that he'll always drop everything for his kids. Arrow business, business business, _anything_. Because they deserve the best of him and the security of knowing he will be there when they need him, no matter what.

"So how do'ya know how to be a daddy, then?" William asks, pulling back to look him in the eye.

He thinks of Ellie, of all he learned from her, but those aren't words for William. They may never be, but they surely aren't right now. This moment isn't about her. It's about _him_ , about them, about this tender, budding relationship forming between them.

"I guess I'm still learning," Oliver tells him, plucking the baseball from his son's fingers and holding it up between them. "Think you might be able to help me with that?"

"Definitely."


	11. February 2023

**February 2023**

" _Your what?"_

Roy's confusion when Oliver had explained why he needed him to babysit had been completely understandable. If their roles had been reversed, Oliver would've raised an eyebrow, too.

"You do know you got married in December, right?" his brother-in-law had asked, the words coming out slowly, as if he'd been willing the words to sink in. Oliver had just sighed, which had prompted Roy to continue with, "Been taking a few too many knocks to the head there, Arrow?"

Usually that would have earned him a set of narrowed eyes and a threatening, " _Do you wanna know what a knocked head feels like?"_ But Oliver had been in too good of a mood to let the snarky comment get to him. He'd simply smiled - a secret one, one that was meant for only him and Felicity - before telling Roy, "It's not that kind of anniversary."

The instant the smile had lit up his face, it'd taken Roy all of three seconds to jump to his next conclusion. He'd grimaced, putting a hand up to ward Oliver off. "Nope, stop right there," he'd said, blinking rapidly like he was trying to erase an image from his head. "I don't wanna know."

Oliver had chuckled at that. "Not that kind of anniversary either, Roy."

"Whatever, I really don't wanna know," Roy had replied. "I'll do it. Just stop smiling like that. It's creepy."

It wasn't a small favor he'd asked for, and Oliver knew it. On top of two very active little girls, they're currently housetraining a puppy and their eight-month-old son still doesn't do well when separated from his mother for any length of time. It doesn't help that Oliver knows his wife will be checking in on Roy and the kids every five minutes - unless he can keep her distracted, which he has every intention of doing. All of this with Thea currently in Central City, going through a new round of experimental treatments and her asking Roy to stay behind this time because of the emotional toll it takes on both of them, it was a lot.

He's gonna owe his brother-in-law big time, but it's worth it.

This kind of occasion doesn't happen often, and Oliver wants to savor the anniversary of one of the most important days of his life.

He hasn't been able to take his eyes off his wife since she'd come down the stairs with their son cradled against her chest, hair up, light catching her dress.

She'd been all business as she'd handed Nate to Roy, along with a very detailed list of everything he could possibly need to know about any situation ever, which had earned her an eye roll. That had led to her poking Roy in the bicep with each punctuating word as she'd said, " _You call me if anything happens."_ She'd been barefoot at the time, considerably shorter than the two men around her, but that hadn't mattered because in that moment she'd been a mountain compared to Roy, making her even more beautiful than she already was. Roy had wilted, sheepishly replying with a gentle, " _I will. I promise. Now get the hell out of here so we can watch bad TV."_

" _Roy!"_

" _Kidding, I'm kidding. Go, we'll be fine."_

Oliver's banking on them being just that: _fine_. He loves his kids more than life itself, they are at the very top of the list of things he's done right in his life, but so is his wife.

And today is important.

He hurries around to her side of the car, his eyes on her where she's chewing on her bottom lip, concentrating on fixing an errant hair in the rearview mirror. Her phone sitting in her lap lights her skin in a soft blue glow. Oliver waves the valet off before the young man can reach Felicity's door, doing it himself with a soft smile. He holds out his hand for her and Felicity's face splits into a delighted grin.

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," she says, her fingers settling against his. "But I like it."

Oliver's smile widens. "We clearly need to do this more often then," he replies, shooting her a wink as he helps her out of the car.

"You'll hear no arguments from me." The dress she's wearing rides up as she gets out, widening the slit to reveal most of her gorgeous leg through the opening of her coat. Oliver can't help the way his gaze lingers on exactly where that hem hits her legs. The way those creamy legs of hers are offset by the sparkle of that too-short skirt makes him want to drag her back in the car and push it up her thighs the rest of the way. _Later_. That's for later. The moment she's standing, Felicity sighs, tugging the edge of the gold-sequined dress that barely hits her mid-thigh back down. "Although why I let you talk me into wearing this dress is another story entirely. This thing has 'donate me' written all over it."

"Don't you dare," Oliver says, tugging her closer.

He catches movement from the corner of his eye, signalling the valet stepping back to his station, giving them space and time. Even when another car pulls up behind theirs, he doesn't rush them, moving to help the other couple as Oliver and Felicity talk. He's getting a big tip.

"You really don't think it's too much?" Felicity asks with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow. She slips her phone back into her purse - she's only texted Roy twice about the kids, which is a minor miracle. She glances down and he follows her gaze, slipping his hands over her waist. Oh yes, he loves this dress, especially on her. She makes a ticking noise in her throat before glancing back at him. She huffs out a small laugh. "Well, the look on your face says it's great," she concedes. "But I'm not exactly 24 anymore, Oliver. I've had three children and these hips tell no lies."

Oliver hums, letting his hands slip a little lower. His fingers brush over said hips as he says, "I agree," with a wicked little grin. Felicity slaps his chest lightly, hissing out his name, which only makes him chuckle. He's well aware that they're in public, but he's also well aware that she's wearing a coat and that nobody can see his hands. They might make assumptions but… As if to prove that point, Oliver steps close enough that he can slide his hands down her ample backside.

"Hey," Felicity says with a burst of laughter, a light flush rushing up her neck. She tries to look stern, but she's smiling and there's a new gleam in her eye. Oh god yes, they're doing this more often if he gets to see that carefree look more often. "Hands, Mr. Representative."

"Sorry," Oliver says, retreating just enough that his hands are on her hips again.

"But seriously," Felicity says, that smile dimming as she furrows her brow. "I don't look silly, do I?"

Oliver has to bite his tongue to keep from telling her his usual response, because she absolutely does not. While she believes him when he reiterates how much he adores the way her body shape has been shifting - and he does, he _loves_ it - she doesn't. She's had a harder time after her third pregnancy losing the weight she gained. His wife has always taken pride in taking care of herself and looking good while doing it. She'd dropped the weight almost instantly with Jules, and while it'd taken a little extra effort after Ellie, it'd disappeared quickly. But her weight has started settling differently, much to her dismay.

A dismay that is clearly evident right now.

"You look anything but silly," Oliver tells her, smoothing his hands down her waist. The dress is a little shorter than it used to be, maybe, but past that? "If anything, you look even more incredible than the first time I saw you in it."

And it's true. She takes his breath away in this dress, she always has, right back to the first time he'd seen the hint of gold as the crowd had parted. All he'd been capable of at the time was staring as she'd rambled into a verbal blunder about his family jewels.

Had someone told him what his life would be like now, he'd never have believed them.

But then, that's sort of the point of tonight.

"Although," Oliver adds, tossing his keys to the valet before pulling her into his side. He leans down to speak directly into her ear. "That might just be because this time I know I get to peel it off of you later." Felicity shivers, her breath quickening and he grins, lowering his voice even more, just how she likes it. "In fact I have half a mind to skip dinner and just drag you to the hotel right now."

"Oliver," she breathes, his name coming out in a broken whisper. It's been too damn long since he's heard her say his name like that, just like it's been too long since he's been able to take his time with her. Whether it's falling asleep the instant their head hits the pillow or waking up with kids cuddled between them, they just haven't had the time.

That's going to change, damn it.

Someone from the restaurant holds the door open for them, and he gives them a small nod and a quiet, "Thank you." Felicity takes a deep breath next to him, giving them a barely-there nod. He fights the urge to smile, reveling in how she leans into him. He can't help himself - the second they cross the threshold, he leans over one more time and whispers, "Or maybe I'll just drag you back out to the car for a quick bite."

Felicity falters for a split second, turning to look up at him. Her eyes are dark as they dart to his lips before meeting his gaze again. Her pupils are blown wide, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. It should be hokey, because it is, but they both also know that 'bite' can mean so, _so_ many things. They know that, just as much as they both know he's only half-joking. She lets out a barely-there whimper and licks her lips before tugging one between her teeth. The stark contrast of her teeth against the crimson of her lips is sex as hell.

Really, the only reason he doesn't take her right back out there is because the maître d' has already spotted them.

"Whatever's gotten into you," Felicity says, her voice low, just for him, "I like it. _A lot_."

He smiles at her reiteration, before winking. "Pretty sure I'll be the one getting into you later," he whispers.

Felicity snorts. "Oh my god, Oliver," she says, shaking her head with a disbelieving giggle that makes Oliver grin.

"Representative and Mrs. Queen," the maître d' says with a deferential nod when they reach the front. "We're honored to have you dining with us."

"Thank you," Oliver replies, removing Felicity's coat before doing the same with his. The doorman is right there to take them for him. Felicity glances down at her dress once more, missing the appreciative glance the doorman gives her. He's not wrong, because she's absolutely stunning, but Oliver's not very keen on it, something the man catches onto when he catches Oliver's narrowed eyes. He rushes off, leaving Oliver to sidle up next to Felicity, his hand landing on her lower back as he kisses her temple, whispering, "You're beautiful."

Felicity flushes with pleasure.

Oh yes, he's definitely going to prove that to her as much as he can tonight.

"Right this way, please," the maître d' says before heading into the restaurant.

It's a relatively new place, and ridiculously exclusive. The wait list is months long… well, it usually was. There tend to be a few shortcuts when you're the mayor's son, a State Representative and your wife runs a very successful Fortune 500 company.

People just don't tell the Queens 'no.'

Still, this is far from their usual fare. They usually end up at family-friendly chains where the kids can color on the menus rather than restaurants with actual linen tablecloths, but Oliver had felt like marking this 'anniversary' in a special way. Big Belly Burger doesn't always work, despite the history and meaning they have there.

They're led to a table toward the back, tucked away for privacy but not completely cut off, which is just perfect. It takes Oliver a second to realize - he wasn't lying about having a damn hard time keeping his eyes off his wife - that the entire floor is all glass, and that the restaurant is essentially sitting on an enormous koi pond. It feels like he's standing in a giant aquarium, which is a little jarring, but one look at Felicity's delighted smile and he's more than okay with it as well.

It's been a long while since they've been out like this. Even in the early days they'd had Jules. They've always made an effort to make time for _them_ , but it hasn't been easy. Three kids, two very busy day jobs and the less-than-sanctioned night job they share, well… Nights like these aren't common.

He intends to make the most of it.

The maître d' pulls out a chair for her, earning him a soft, "Oh, thank you," from his wife. Oliver is there a second later, waving the maître d' off with a little wink. The man instantly bows off as Oliver pushes in her chair himself. He spares a moment to lean forward and kiss her bare shoulder as he does. Felicity shivers, her breath catching, and he thrills at the way little goosebumps rise up against his lips.

Nine years, that's how long they've been together, and they've been married for just over six of them. Oliver swears he loves her a little bit more every single day. It's different, of course, and it's gotten a little easier, smoother. It's the kind of love that will last a lifetime and beyond, because it's so much more than just the fireworks between them. But it's also _kept_ that. He can still do things like brush his lips over her shoulder or give her a suggestive line, just like he can still feel the heat rise up in his center at the thought of her voice laced with desperation as she cries out his name. They are lucky. _He's_ lucky. This isn't the kind of balance he'd ever imagined for himself and it never ceases to stun him when he pauses to take stock of his life.

Oliver brushes his fingers across the back of her neck, making her shiver again before he takes his seat across from her. As he takes her hands in his across the table, Felicity asks, "You do realize that Valentine's Day is tomorrow, right?"

"I know," he replies, smoothing his thumb across the back of her knuckles. His gaze hones in on her wedding ring, the diamond catching the soft candlelight around them. He'll never get tired of seeing it on her finger, not ever. He suspects her sentiments are the same about his when she tangles their fingers together, hers brushing over his ring. "That's not what we're celebrating."

Felicity tilts her head. "Then what…?"

"Us," Oliver interrupts, bringing her fingers up to his lips. He kisses them gently. "We're celebrating ten years of us."

Confusion has her crinkling her nose. "We got together in May. We got married in December. We first met in October… I'm not connecting the dots, honey."

Before Oliver can respond, the waiter appears, using a stealth level Oliver rarely sees outside those on his team or his oldest child when she's attempting to sneak cookies. He shows up out of the blue, wielding menus and a wine list.

Nothing has prices, which is good. While they may have an obscene amount of money, Felicity still hasn't gotten used to having large amounts spent on her.

Oliver only half pays attention to the man's greeting and introduction of the specials, and he doesn't even glance at the wine list before saying, "We'll have your best red, please."

Felicity's eyes wide - she knows what no prices mean - and she laughs. "Oliver!"

"And we'll need a moment for the rest of the order," Oliver continues as if she hadn't interrupted, sliding his hand back to hers. He slips his palm against hers, his fingertips teasing the inside of her wrist.

The waiter doesn't have to be told twice. As he hurries off, Felicity's smile deepens, reaching her eyes, highlighting the beautiful crinkles along the edges that have just started to line her face. "What in the world is going on with you tonight?" she asks.

"You," he tells her simply. "You're what's going on with me." She raises her eyebrows, obviously waiting for a clearer answer, and the expectant look on her face has a weird burst of nerves hitting his stomach. Which is amazing, because even after all these years, she still makes him feel that way. Oliver licks his lips. "Ten years ago today, you took a risk. On me. On us. Although neither of us really knew that at the time." He strokes her wrist softly as he talks. "Ten years ago today, you saved my life, in the first of so many ways. And you became my partner in the first of so many ways, too."

It takes a second before recognition dawns across her lovely face, and her breath catches. Her finger flex around his hand, like she's trying to hold onto him, to the memory, to that very instant that they'd become a _them_ in any real sense of the word.

Plenty of moments in their lives are worth marking the anniversary of, but they've never celebrated this one before. They should have, Oliver thinks, because maybe it's the most important one of them all.

"Ten years," she echoes, eyes locked with his.

Oliver nods.

"Ten years," he repeats. "You know, you told me once that we're the kind of people who fight with every breath we have to make the world better. That it's not safe or easy, but that nothing worthwhile really is. Something in me must have known that about you, even back then, when all that was between us was an attraction that definitely was not one-sided. That, and a handful of really terrible lies." Felicity lets out a small laugh, and it's music to his ears. "But ten years ago today, I chose to trust you and you chose to believe me. I think that deserves celebrating. Don't you?"

"Yeah," Felicity whispers, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she smiles at him. It's so bright it's blinding, intoxicating, and it steals his breath away. "I do."

That there's a table between them suddenly feels _wrong_.

By the time the sommelier comes by with their wine and the waiter returns to take their order, Oliver's scooted his chair to his wife's side like they're at home with their two little girls across from them and Nate passed out in his playpen nearby.

It's almost routine the easy way they settle in next to each other. His hand drifts up and down her back, catching along the gold sequins before smoothing them out again. Her head leans against his shoulder in a silent show of affection as she sighs in contentment.

This is _them._

Or, at least, it's part of them. Their evening is just beginning.

The wine is rich and well-aged, a full-palate experience with a great nose. Oliver enjoys it, but the only thing that makes it worth the undoubtedly absurd price is his wife's obvious delight. She hums as she sips at it, licking her lips before taking one more. Her lips are mesmerizing, but that in combination with the way her throat moves as she swallows has his mind jumping to places that are so not public-friendly.

His pants tighten as he leans closer to her. He slides his hand between her legs and up the inside of her thigh, pushing the fabric of her dress out of the way. He relishes the feel of her soft skin under his calloused fingertips. Her fingers tighten around her wineglass, her eyes flying to his.

"You don't suppose they'd give us these to-go, do you?" he asks

Felicity's wine-stained lips part in a soft pant, her eyelids growing heavy with a want he knows all too well. She leans back in her chair and spreads her legs for him, just enough to slip his hand up as high as he wants to go, causing her dress to ride up even more. Oliver inhales sharply when he feels the warmth waiting for him.

"We're already here," Felicity says, giving him a little smile. "And… if memory serves…" She toes her heels off under the table and wraps a leg around his calf. She leans in, her lips brushing over his stubbled cheek, causing him to grip her thigh tightly. "We're pretty good at making the most of a situation. Don't you think?"

"Felicity," he says, his voice low enough to rival his modulator. It has her thighs clenching around his hand, which makes him groan.

"Yes?" she asks breathily, pushing his sock down with her toes, dragging his pants up his leg a few inches. His mind blanks on him as those sky-blue toenails he'd watched paint her yesterday scrape against his calf. "Were you going to say something, Oliver?"

She's teasing him, so blatantly and with so much joy that it makes his every single nerve feel extra sensitive to her touch. He'd thought he'd had her earlier, but oh, he'd been wrong. She'd had him, just like always. It's just been so long since they'd been able to do this. Between Nate's birth and his campaign and subsequent election, they've been busy. _Too_ busy, he realizes, because it's almost shocking how much he needs this, needs _her_.

A violent surge of want rockets through him, every bit of his concentration on her toes teasing his calf and the growing heat between her firm thighs. He's suddenly damn tempted to get her off right then and there with his fingers, but Felicity doesn't give him the chance.

She sets her wineglass down, freeing her hand to land on his thigh. She nuzzles the side of his face as she slides her hand up just enough for her fingers to graze the growing hardness in his pants.

" _Fuck_ ," Oliver mutters under his breath, making her grin.

"Not yet," she replies sweetly. "That's for later."

 _The hell it is_.

Oliver pushes his hand further up her thigh, his fingers catching on the fabric of her panties - and goddamn it, they're _lace_. Felicity's breath catches, her legs opening up just enough for him to press the back of his fingers to the damp material. Her fingers twitch on his thigh as he grazes her heat, just enough for her pinky to drag right over his hardness.

The temptation to bribe everyone around him to clear the hell out so he could have his way with his wife roars to life inside him. Discretion is part of the selling point at a place like this, and as the world starts to fade in a hazy blur, he almost, _almost_ gives in.

Until the waiter clears his throat slightly, the only indication that their food is about to arrive.

"Goddamn it," Oliver whispers at the interruption, the soft exclamation making Felicity giggle.

They pull away from each other, just enough to be decent - thank god for these tables and their linen cloths, hiding everything that they do.

Felicity looks just as affected as he feels, the flush in her cheeks making her glow as the server sets down their food with minimal fanfare. Just as quickly as they'd arrived, the waiter and server disappear, leaving the alone once more. The food looks delicious, but Oliver could really care less, because his hand is still between his wife's legs and her foot is still in his pants and all he really wants to do is make her squirm. Or at the very least just inhale the food, pay the check and get her back to the hotel he'd booked for the evening.

That's the plan, at least, until Felicity lets out a sharp little laugh that snaps him back to reality. As if that wasn't enough she withdraws her foot from his leg and tugs her skirt down, effectively pushing his hand away. He's more than a few steps behind her, his brain lingering on the fact that his wife is wearing lace underwear that he's going to pull off her body with his teeth.

"What?" Oliver asks.

"Very covertly, take a look at who's at the bar," she replies as she takes a forkful of caramelized scallops with some sort of fruity-smelling sauce atop it. He's about to do as she instructs, but then her lips wrap around the fork and it's _distracting_. "Oh _wow_ , this is great. You should try a bite. After you _look at the bar_."

With a frown - because what the hell - he does, and when he sees what she's talking about, the lusty haze disappears in an an instant. It's quickly replaced with a buzzing sense of urgency, his thumb rubbing against his index finger, his body itching to get to his weapon as he sits up taller, inadvertently shielding Felicity.

"Is that…?"

"Callihan?" she fills in. "As in Pat Callihan? Leader of the Irish Mob Callihan, the one we've been trying to find for months? Yes, I do believe it is." She holds out a fork with a scallop on it. "You really do have to try this, it's fantastic."

Mindlessly, Oliver takes a bite off her fork. Strawberry flavor bursts across his tongue. The fruit topping is strawberry salsa and she's right, it's damn good. Ellie would love it, he randomly thinks, but the rest of his brain is occupied with the realization that the goddamn Irish Mob just interrupted his anniversary dinner.

"It's sorta great, isn't it?" Felicity asks.

"Delicious," Oliver agrees absently, turning to glance once more at the man sitting at the bar.

"No, not that," she says before waving her fork at the plate. "Although these are amazing. But I meant _that_ ," Felicity finishes, covertly tilting her head towards Callihan.

How in _hell_ is the presence of the Irish Mob on their incredibly rare date night a positive thing? He gets why it's a good thing, in the grand scheme, but did it have to be _tonight_?

Felicity smiles at him, reading his incredulity accurately. She leans over, cupping his cheek. "We're celebrating ten years of being a badass crime-fighting team, Oliver," she says, dragging her nails through his beard, love shining from her eyes. "Bringing down the head of the Irish Mob seems like a helluva good way to celebrate to me."

Oliver can only stare at her, at the simple determination, the steadfast confidence, the certainty that that is indeed the best way to celebrate. Because it is. As much as they're the occasional dates and family dinners, they're this, too. And their partnership has always been about so much more than just _them_.

"You're remarkable," he says softly. She grins, looking pleased. Before he can think twice, Oliver cups her cheek and kisses her, a soft press of the lips that's more about recognition than anything. Felicity sighs, kissing him back. It's not nearly long enough, but they don't have the time. Pulling back, Oliver nods, his eyes darting back to Callihan. "Okay. So… we need a plan."

Felicity hums her agreement before dropping a kiss to his shoulder. It's honest, but it's also meant to steal her own surreptitious glance toward the bar again.

"I think," she says, taking another bite of her food, "we start off by eating. Your lobster risotto is getting cold and that poor waiter might have a heart attack if he lets down the big bad Representative Queen."

"Felicity, I'm serious."

"So am I," she replies. "I think all of the staff is on high alert." He huffs at that as she takes a sip of her wine. Even with the sudden change in their circumstances, she still takes a second to enjoy it. It makes him shake his head with wonder. "Plus, we haven't drawn Callihan's attention and I don't think we will if we, you know, act normal."

Oliver gives her a cheeky grin. "Is that your way of saying my hand between your legs is normal?"

"Yes," she replies without missing a beat. Despite the circumstances, the surety in her voice has the need from earlier stirring inside him again. He lifts a challenging eyebrow at her, but she glances at the bar again. "Besides, he just sat down. He doesn't even have his drink yet, and he's obviously waiting for someone." She pats his thigh. "We have time."

With a sigh, Oliver settles back in his chair. It takes him a second to realize his shoulders are tense and he forces himself to relax. He's not here as the Arrow, he's here as Oliver Queen, State Representative on a date with his beautiful wife. With that in mind, Oliver drapes his arm around Felicity's shoulders, his fingers drifting over her bare shoulder as he starts eating.

He keeps Callihan in his peripheral the entire time, though. He hears the logic behind Felicity's plan, but still, he prefers action over waiting. As aggravated as he is at the mobster's timing and as much as he wants to pretend it's still just them, he can't. It's not in his nature, because he can do something about it. And he will. He's not about to let Callihan walk, not if he can help it. Especially with his wife right there.

"You think he's waiting for Morrissey?" Oliver asks.

Felicity shrugs. "That'd be my guess. We'll have to wait and see, which means we get to eat our delicious food and drink this delicious wine and…"

Oliver can't quite help himself, adding to her list, "My fingers in those lace panties of yours."

Thankfully she's not drinking her wine because she inhales sharply at the connotation. He winks at her, making Felicity chuckle as she slips him a sly smile.

"And then _you_ , my love," she continues, not commenting on his addition, "can go change into your other suit while I call Captain Lance. By the time the police get here, you'll have given them the old one-two punch," she says, using her fork as emphasis. "Or arrow, as the case would be, and then we can head on our merry way." Felicity's face lights up with a bright smile. "Look at that, it's our anniversary and we're the ones gift-wrapping two presents for the SCPD. We're so thoughtful."

Oliver grins, and when the urge to lean over and kiss her takes over, he gives in completely. Mostly because he wants to and because he loves her, but also because it lets him get closer to her, his arm sliding further around her shoulders. For all intents and purposes, they're a couple simply enjoying each other's company… as well as his trying to physically prove to himself that she's safe in his arms. He approximates normal, average, although in truth he and Felicity are anything but that. They're a team, ten years in the making.

"Morrissey's here," Felicity tells him as she takes a sip of wine. The second Oliver sees the same thing, he waves the waiter to their table. The young man is already prepared with the check. Oliver barely glances over it before handing him his credit card. When he's out of earshot, Felicity asks, "Do you think we should call John?"

"No," Oliver replies, shaking his head as he takes in their surroundings. This is a low-level meeting; there's next to none of Callihan's usual backup. He slips his hand in hers, the light catching on her wedding right. "We've got this, partner."

Felicity laughs under her breath, rolling her eyes playfully. She scans the bar. "He's got two men with him," she notes. "It looks like Morrissey only has one."

"Sloppy," Oliver notes.

"Maybe he couldn't pay the tab here for more goons," she says. "He's usually a ghost. A very well-protected ghost, but still a ghost. You really didn't know he'd be here?"

"No," Oliver replies, scanning the restaurant. "The only thing I'd planned on doing tonight was wooing my wife and then taking her to a hotel room to have my way with her."

"I sure hope that's still part of the plan."

"Oh, it definitely is," Oliver says, slipping his hand over her lap. He squeezes her thigh before getting back to the task at hand. They've done this a thousand times, it seems. "You have a spare bug in your purse?"

"Well, now that's a dumb question," Felicity replies, and yeah, it sort of is. His wife always has a wealth of tech with her, but since she's been using her diaper bag more often than not lately, he hadn't known what she'd transferred to her purse. "' _Do I have a bug?'_ ' she repeats, digging into her purse. "Have we even met?"

"Once or twice," Oliver replies dryly. "Your memory seems a little foggy. I think we might have to get reacquainted later." He glances at her, his eyes taking _all_ of her in. "You know. For a reboot."

Her eyes flash with a mixture of amusement and something far better: _need_. Her reaction is quick and visceral, a sure sign that they don't do this often enough. The sight of it has his own rising again. Their eyes stay locked on each other, the recognition of the desire that lives between them tangible. He swears it's just as intense as their first few months together, their first few years. It's never faded. Not for the first time, Oliver wishes that Callihan was literally anywhere else but on the opposite side of the room, demanding their attention. It's a huge break for them, and he knows it, but it's still their date night.

"I'm not sure my husband would like that very much," Felicity says, leaning into him. She slips her hand along the lapel of his suit jacket before pressing her fingers inside. He feels her warm hand through his shirt as she presses her palm to his chest.

"Oh trust me," he whispers. "Your husband would like that very, _very_ much." He grips her thigh tighter where it's still wrapped around her legs, keeping his voice low. "So much so that I'm suddenly having a hard time understanding why I'm not just getting you off right now."

He understands it, actually, more than he wants to, but the way her breath hitches and her mouth falls open is so, so worth it.

"Well then," Felicity says, slipping her hand further down his chest. Her eyes dart down to the front of his pants where his arousal is obvious. "We better get moving." She leans in closer, kissing the shell of his ear light enough to make him shiver before finishing with, "I do so love to please my husband."

"Damn it," Oliver groans as his body instantly reacts. At this rate he's never going to get his Arrow suit on. His slacks are too tight, he can't imagine those damn leather pants. With a ragged exhale, he sits up, pulling her hand away. "At this rate, we're never going to get out of here."

Felicity looks contrite, but she can't quite erase her smirk. She takes just as much pride in her ability to get a reaction out of him as he does her. And Oliver is well-aware that he is just as complicit in this; he needs to keep his hands to himself.

"Callihan first," she says with a definitive nod.

"Callihan first." Oliver readjusts in his chair - damn it, this might be a problem. "Callihan," he repeats.

"Yes," Felicity says. "Callihan. The Irish Mob boss who's moving in on our neighborhood with drugs and guns - our _actual_ neighborhood. Where we live with our kids."

 _Right_.

Well, that's an effective temporary damper.

"Let's do this," Oliver says. He leans over for a quick kiss before getting up, helping her with hers. "Are you thinking the table, or…?" he asks, referring to the bug.

Felicity shakes her head. "No, the tablecloths are in the way. I think I'll head to the restroom." She smiles. "Powder my nose."

Before he can argue - and really, his only argument is that she's going to walk _right by them_ \- she's off. Oliver moves to go after her before stopping himself. She's recognizable, absolutely, but not nearly as much as he is. He presses his lips together, keeping his eye on her as she moves. Just as the waiter brings back the check and his card, Felicity stumbles, right into a post ten feet away from Callihan and Morrissey. Oliver knows she's placed the bug by the way her hand moves, but the people around her don't, the ones who rush to aid her, including those scumbags' bodyguards. Thankfully his wife is already up and waving people off, thanking them, offering explanations for her gaffe before she disappears into the bathroom.

"Can you bring our jackets, please?" Oliver asks the waiter.

"Of course, sir."

Felicity's barely in there for a minute before she's on her way out, heading straight for him where he stands ready with their coats.

"Got it?" Oliver asks when she reaches him. He holds her jacket out and she turns, shrugging into it with his aid.

"Yep," she says, wiggling her phone at him with a smile. It's not the app for the feed, though, just like her smile isn't about the bug, either. Her phone screen is on her messages, and there's one new one. He stills her hand long enough to see it's a text from Roy asking what they fed Nate because he's pretty sure it's not possible for a human to need that many diaper changes in two hours, but everything else seems fine.

It's a relief to both of them, but most definitely to his wife. This is the first time she's really been further away from Nate than the few floors between QI and its in-house daycare. He - along with Callihan showing up - had been doing a pretty good job of distracting her. But now, judging by the way she bites her lip and moves to answer the text right there, she's antsy again, eager to get more information.

"The kids are fine," Oliver says, pulling her hair out from underneath her jacket collar for her. When Felicity turns to look up at him, he leans in for a quick peck. "Let's go do what we do best."

"Okay," she replies, a little reluctantly. "But first we need to take care of Callihan."

Oliver chuckles, wrapping his arm around her waist as he turns to leave. " _Cute_."

"Yes," she confirms, leaning into him. "I am."

When Felicity pushes her arm underneath his jacket, wrapping it around his waist, he decides very quickly that he's glad she's wearing her coat. He can feel her generous curves through the material and considering how very close to the edge he's been for the most of the night, it's best that there's a barrier between them. Glancing down at her, his eyes dance down her front and oh hell, he suddenly has a new appreciation for this dress fits her. She's only just recently given up breastfeeding, which means she's still… _ample._

 _Focus_.

And he does. But his hands have a life all their own. He lets his fingers drift from her waist down to the curve of her hip. He fans them out across the ridge of her hipbone. It's not indecent placement, really, but the way he tightens his fingers against her body and how he nuzzles his face against the side of her head, his lips lingering against her temple, is not entirely appropriate.

" _Oliver_ ," she chastises, although it comes out less like beratement and more like encouragement. He grins, leaning down further to kiss her cheek, moving down to her jaw and her neck. Felicity bites her tongue to keep in a chuckle, but it doesn't work all that well. She pushes on his face - barely - as she says, "Oliver, _focus_."

"Oh, I'm very focused," he replies, which only makes her laugh more, which is fine, really. To anyone looking on, they probably look like a happy couple who are in love. And they are.

But they aren't just that, not that anyone needs to know that much.

The minute they're out of the restaurant, they're all business. As the valet brings their car around, Felicity pulls up the feed on her phone to keep an eye on Callihan. When their car appears, Oliver is right there, tipping the man - handsomely, as he'd promised - before opening the door for her and running to his side.

"Where we at?" Oliver asks as he gets behind the wheel.

"No change," Felicity advises.

Oliver pulls out of the parking lot and immediately turns onto a side street nearby, one he knows leads to an alleyway. "Traffic cams?" he asks as he carefully makes his way to a more secluded area.

"Already on it," she replies, her eyes never leaving the screen. "Did that in the bathroom." Oliver pulls the SUV behind a dumpster and shifts into park as Felicity shakes her head. "Why can't these guys look at my bug while they talk? I'm getting every tenth word here. So far all I know is that Callihan hates sushi. Or possibly he hates people who like sushi. Could be either. Could be both."

Oliver climbs into the back of the car. Even as spry as he is, it's not an easy task, and the SUV rocks with his efforts. This was definitely not the kind of rocking he'd had in mind tonight. The kids' car seats are bulky and cumbersome, but he eventually makes it past them and into the back. He yanks up the false floor to expose where the spare tire is usually kept, but instead it's his duffle bag with his spare Arrow suit, bow and quiver of arrows.

You can't ever be too prepared - for anything, he realizes as he pushes Felicity's backup diaper bag out of the way before he starts shedding his clothes. Unless they have a flat tire, but that's a problem for another day.

"All three bodyguards are armed," his wife reports from the front as he trades his suit pants for his leather ones. "Not that _that's_ a surprise. You got a plan to keep this from being a bloodbath with the restaurant staff? These guys look hostage-prone."

Oliver winces. She's right. The best way would be to get him out of the restaurant, out in the open somewhere away from potential victims caught in the crossfire.

"How many people are in there?" he asks, shrugging on his jacket before moving to tie up his boots.

"Too many," Felicity says. "Tables might be sparse to give the illusion of not being busy, but they're all full. Even ours is already getting seated. This place is booked out for months." She nods. "But wow, is that well-earned because those scallops were just-"

"I'll take you back," Oliver promises, cutting her off as he tosses his bow and quiver towards the front before climbing back into the front seat. His hood is down, mask in hand, and his knee nearly lands in a half-empty discarded cup of juice. God, kids are such a mess. Wouldn't that be a dead giveaway, the Arrow showing up with spit-up on his shoulder and smelling of apple juice.

News at eleven.

"We really need to clean the car out," Oliver says as he settles back in the driver seat.

"I did earlier," Felicity replies. Oliver shoots her an incredulous look, but she's already saying, "I know, but you should have seen it this morning. Fries and Jules' crayons all over the floor.. I'm pretty sure it's Ellie getting sticker happy on the backseat, too." Despite the sad thing being that he knows she's probably right - one kid is a mess, but add two more and it's mayhem - it still warms his heart. It will never cease to amaze him that this is life. "Here," Felicity says, trading him her phone for his mask. She pulls it over his head, adjusting it until it's perfect. She cups his face, gazing at him with a soft glow of love before leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to his lips. "Still look like my hero."

A flush of pleasure and happy bashfulness skates across his skin. She hadn't looked at him like that ten years ago, not yet anyway. In hindsight, he can see the foundation for it building, though. Even at his darkest she saw the very best of him, helped him grow to be the very best version of himself.

Oliver doesn't just love her. He loves who he is when he's with her, because of her, because of them.

That's incredible on an entirely different level.

He leans forward, kissing her again, reverently, willing her to feel his love and gratitude for her.

It's supposed to be a quick peck, a gentle kiss to show her how he feels, but the heat from earlier is still very present and one second it's easy and the next it's escalating. Felicity sighs, one hand sliding to the back of his neck as she opens her lips just as Oliver slides his tongue along her bottom one. With a groan, Oliver angles his head and deepens the kiss, swallowing her little gasps as he practically ravages her. She kisses him back with just as much ardor, her gasps turning into moans that fill the car. The kiss takes over, fogging his mind, eliminating everything but her and this moment.

There's something singularly poetic about kissing her in his Arrow suit in the remnants of their messy, perfect lives.

Oliver only pulls back when the burn for oxygen is too much.

"Mm," Felicity breathes, licking her lips, chasing the taste of him. He can't stifle his groan at the sight of her tongue peeking out, nor can he stop himself from pulling her back for one more kiss. This one is quicker, but just as passionate, and goddamn his Arrow pants because they're getting more uncomfortable with each passing second. Felicity pulls back, humming, shaking her head. "Okay, we need to take these guys down fast. Like now, right now." She kisses him again, and again, her words punctuating each one as she says, "As much as I love how appropriate this is, I need you, Arrow. _Now_."

That is both the very right and the very wrong thing to say.

"Fuck, Felicity," Oliver whispers, his voice a gravelly mess. It makes her shiver and he kisses her hard before pulling back. "Right. Let's get this done." He reaches for the door handle without a second thought, not until Felicity grabs his arm, making him look back at her. "What?"

"Do you have a plan?" she asks. "For all the people in there?"

Oliver blinks, because no, he didn't have a plan. His brain was still on her lips, not on saving people, and that's just not gonna cut it. And going in half-cocked - ha, his wife would laugh at that one - could very well lead to something going very wrong. He shakes his head, trying to think of something that would both work and be done fast as hell…

"What about like at the school last October?"

Felicity furrows her brow, not following… and then she suddenly does. Her eyes widen. "Are you seriously comparing taking down an Irish mobster to you cornering our oldest daughter about pushing kids on the playground?"

"Well, when you put it that way," he says with a grimace. "But yeah. Only with arrows instead of an ice cream truck."

"I can't decide which idea is more disturbing," his wife says as she shakes her head. "Using your parenting techniques in your vigilantism or vigilantism techniques in your parenting." She blinks. "Actually, what might be most disturbing is that I totally know what you're talking about and I agree with you. I guess it's unorthodox parenting for the win. Yay."

"That works," Oliver says with a chuckle, giving her another quick kiss before handing her phone back. He grabs two comm units from the center console and hands one to her, slipping the other in his ear. "I'll be back in a bit."

"You better be," Felicity replies. "I might be tempted to start without you."

"Don't you dare," Oliver says with so much seriousness that it's ridiculous. It makes his wife laugh as she looks back at her screen.

He slips out of the car. The alleyway is deserted, but he scales the side of the brick-faced building anyway just to be safe. He's sprinted across these rooftops for more than a decade now, and his feet know exactly where to go. In moments, he's perched atop the high-priced clothing store his mother likes that sits right next to the restaurant, lying in wait.

"Ice cream truck might work here, actually," Felicity says over the comm. The mental image of drawing off errant employees and staunch henchmen with Klondike bars has Oliver laughing under his breath. "I mean, who doesn't like ice cream, right?"

"You never know," he replies. "One of them might be lactose intolerant and kill the whole plan."

"Damn," she says with a long-suffering sigh. "Way to foil the plan. I guess we'll just have to…" She cuts herself off abruptly and Oliver instantly tenses. "You're up, Arrow. And we lucked out, Morrissey stayed behind with his burly fella, so it's just Callihan and his goons heading out. It looks like they're going out the front."

"Good," Oliver says, already moving. "We need Morrissey on the streets." And they do. He's small fish, more willing to make contacts that save his ass than out of loyalty to any one person. And he's far easier to track than the Irish Mob boss. "How long?"

"Thirty seconds."

When the doors open, Oliver's ready.

Callihan is all bravado as he steps outside, pulling a case of cigarettes out of his pocket. One of his men has the valet running off for their car just as the doorman closes the door behind them. The second the area is clear of civilians, Oliver lets loose a pair of arrows. They find their targets easily, dropping each bodyguard to the ground. One's head lands on the sidewalk with a solid thunk, knocking him out as the other screams in pain, his now-useless arm hanging limply at his side, the arrow having severed a nerve.

Oliver's already shooting another arrow as Callihan whips his head around, taking in the carnage. The zipline arrow lands in the brick of the building and Oliver slides down it with one hand, landing in front of the mobster within seconds. The large Irish man stumbles back as Oliver advances on him, pulling an arrow that he aims right at the man's head.

"Patrick Callihan," Oliver growls. "You have failed this city."

"That never gets old," Felicity whispers in his ear. "Still gives me chills."

But Oliver doesn't get the chance to be distracted by his wife because Callihan's face twists with rage and then he's pulling out a pistol from his pocket. Instinct more than anything has Oliver slipping out a small arrow from the holster on his arm and throwing it right at him. In a tremendous display of accuracy, the thin projectile finds its home in the barrel of the gun.

Callihan tosses the useless weapon away and turns to run back into the restaurant. Oliver's faster though. One arrow aimed at the door has a cord wrapping around the handle, effectively sealing it off from the mobster, and another aims right for Callihan's knee. His bloodcurdling scream echoes through the streets as he stumbles, but with a, "No, you'll have to kill me first," the man shows a surprising amount of agility and spins away before Oliver can reach him, darting down the sidewalk.

"That can be arranged," Oliver snaps, going after him.

Pat Callihan should be glad it's 2023 and not 2012, because Oliver would have surely put him in the ground without a second thought. The mobster has been moving in on his neighborhood, endangering the people who he represents as well as his own wife and kids. He would deserve it, but it'd be too easy. Instead, Oliver catches up to him and, after a short-lived fight that Callihan is sorely ill-prepared for, Oliver yanks the arrow out of his leg, earning him another scream, before ramming it through Callihan's hand, spearing the man to a tree.

"SCPD is four minutes out," Felicity reports. "And since I don't actually have eyes on you, I'm judging from the very loud yelling going on in the background that you've got Callihan pinned down?"

"Literally," Oliver replies just as the echo of sirens become more distinct. He takes a second to punch the sputtering mobster hard enough that it knocks him out, leaving him hanging limply from his hand before Oliver shoots another zipline at the closest building. As he flies up into the air, he tells his wife, "Callihan's secured."

"Great! Are you headed back then?"

"No," Oliver says, landing with a soft thud on the roof.

Felicity's disappointment is palpable. "What, why?"

"Because Morrissey could have easily called for backup," Oliver replies. He looks back just in time to see SCPD squad cars filling the street. The conscious bodyguard gets up and tries to get away, but three cops are on him, guns pulled, shouts filling the air. He scans the area. "He had to have heard the screams. I'm not risking leading anyone back to you."

He can hear her smile in her voice as she says, "Okay, Arrow." She's clearly placating him, although his reasons are damn valid. He hears rustling over the line as she slides into the driver seat. "Meet you at the hotel, then?"

"Yeah," he replies, making sure one last time that the SCPD have all three men before he ziplines to the next building over. "Bring the bag."

"Yes, dear."

"And," Oliver adds as he steadily makes his way to the hotel, "You'll have to tell me which direction the balcony's facing."

There's more rustling and the sound of the car door slamming shut - she's clearly already there - before she pauses, knowing where he's going with that inquiry.

"You better not be thinking about scaling a twenty-story building, mister," she says under her breath, her words punctuated by her heels as she heads inside. "I can just drop the bag or leave it somewhere."

"It's fine," he replies, much to her exasperation if her scoff is anything to go by. But she's already inside, so she can't berate him anymore just yet. He hears her loud and clear as she talks to a clerk in the lobby.

"Reservation for Queen… The honeymoon suite? Oh, for… And which floor is that on?" He smiles, already knowing the answer and what her response will be. "The top floor? Right. Of course it is. He doesn't do anything easy, does he?" The caustic remark is all for him and he chuckles loud enough for her to hear. "No, no," she continues, talking to the clerk. "That's fine, it's perfect. Thank you."

"Three minutes away," he tells her, her heels on the marble floor the only indication that she's moving.

"You do not need to climb this building," Felicity says quietly. A ding in the background signals the elevator. "If you fall, I'm going to be _pissed_ , Oliver."

"I won't fall," he replies, his lips twitching into a smile as the hotel comes into view. Had he known what the night held for them, he'd have picked an older building with a fire escape. Still, it's doable, despite the fact that only the top floor suites have balconies, which means he's going to have to bounce between a few of them to reach the top. Well, nobody can say he hasn't ever enjoyed a challenge. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, honey."

"Oh shush," she retorts. "This is dumb. I can drop the bag. It's not like I'm trying to hit a bullseye."

"There are streets on all four sides of hotel," Oliver says. "How about we play to our strengths?"

"Our ' _strengths'_ ," she repeats. A soft beep tells him she's reached their suite. "I can't believe you right now."

"You wanna kill the street lights and cameras on our side of the building?" he asks. He's about five stories up on the current building he's standing on, it's not _terrible_. It's manageable, although he better do it right because falling would not be good. Not that he's going to tell her that. "I'll find my way up. Which way is our balcony facing?"

Felicity sighs, and he knows she's rolling her eyes as she makes her way through the suite. He catches sight of some lights turning on just as she says, "We're facing the river."

"Perfect," Oliver says. She's right in front of him, then, which is also the perfect side to climb because there's a high rise right across Bayfront Drive, facing their side of the hotel that he can bounce off of and swing onto their balcony from.

He's already shooting an arrow up as she turns on more lights.

"This place is ridiculous," Felicity says. "You should see this hot tub."

"I plan on it," he replies as he flies up into the air. He lands on a ledge about halfway on the high rise, his eyes on their room. "That was part of the plan, you know."

Despite her aggravation with him and his choice of entrance, he catches her light pant and he swears he hears her licking her lips. "Oh?"

"Mmhmm," Oliver continues as he plans his next move. "I was going to peel that beautiful dress off with my teeth and kiss every inch of you." She's completely silent on the other end of the phone. "I wanted to feel you coming around my fingers first before I got you into that tub… Did you notice it has jets? Remember Bali?"

She lets out a soft whine. He knows she remembers Bali. The hot tub in their hotel room there hadn't been nearly as big as the one waiting for him upstair, but it'd been powerful. He'd positioned them perfectly so the jet was aimed right between her legs as he'd entered her from behind and he hadn't stopped until she was completely spent.

Oh yes, they are using the _hell_ out of that hot tub.

"Get the hell up here, Oliver," she says, her voice low.

He's already on his way.

There's an overhang on the highrise, just high enough that he's barely a few floors above the hotel, giving him the perfect view into their room. The room is huge, as is the balcony, almost a second living space with its sitting areas and firepit. Parts of it are enclosed, offering privacy, and a second later, Felicity appears from behind one of the partitions. Her tablet is in hand, her jacket open so he can see the hint of gold sequins and the delicious curve of her legs and breasts. His pants have been tight all night, but seeing her there, knowing the softness and warmth waiting for him, it has him hardening all over again. God, he wants her, right now. He wants to feel her fall apart underneath, feel her quaking around him, hear her gasps and cries.

A gentle breeze pushes her hair off her face as she looks up at him, like she knows exactly where he is.

Felicity waves at him. "The view's great from here."

"Not so bad over here, either," he replies.

She laughs, shaking her head before looking down at her tablet. A second later, the lights on their side of the building go off, and then a second later, so do the streetlights.

Oliver doesn't waste a second. The instant the world goes dim, he lets loose an arrow. It lands with a solid thunk, the grappling hooks connecting solidly evident over the line. It elicits a surprised, "Oh," from Felicity just as he jumps off the side of the overhang.

A few seconds later, he's on their balcony.

He lands with a barely-audible thud, a shadow in the dark. Years of practice has honed his vision at night, letting him acclimate a lot quicker than she can. She didn't see him coming in, not yet, and she's still scanning the building, like she's waiting. The lights are still off, leaving her silhouetted against the dim lights coming up from passing cars down on the street.

Oliver whips his quiver off and crouches down enough to set it and his bow down on a table.

The creak of his leather gives him away.

Felicity's head whips towards him with startled, "Oliver?" but he's already there, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She gasps as he presses her closer to the balcony railing, plastering the front of his body to the back of hers. He winds his arms around her, burying his face into the crook of her neck, pushing his hips against her plump ass. She lets out a little laugh, shaking her head as she whispers, "You're really good at that."

"Which part?" he asks, nuzzling his face into her neck. His stubble scrapes over the sensitive skin there and she shivers with another gasp, her head falling back, giving him more access. And he takes it, he takes all of it, hugging her close as he can get her. His leather and her jacket are in the way, and it's a damn nuisance, but it's okay, because he licks and nips a steady line up the length of her throat. When he reaches her ear, he repeats, "Which part?"

"What?" she asks, her voice hoarse.

He wants to hear more.

"Which part am I good at?" he asks.

"All of it," she answers mindlessly, her hand coming up to the back of his head.

Oliver's lips quirk up in a pleased smile. He tugs his gloves off, needing to feel her under his hands as he presses himself closer. He keeps her back flush against his chest, angling her away from the high balcony, knowing she doesn't want to look down. He winds his arms around her waist, cradling her close as he sucks on her earlobe.

His name comes off her lips in a rasp as he runs his hand over her curves, the sequins getting caught on his callouses, but not enough for him to stop. He slips them up her rounded abdomen to her breasts. Felicity moans when he cups them, the sound taking on a sharp tenor when he thrusts his hips against her, letting her feel how much he needs her.

There's a bite of chill to the air around them, making her warmth all the more welcoming.

Felicity turns her head to his, angling her head to capture his lips. The instant they meet he groans, opening for her and she takes everything he gives her. She kisses him with an intensity that he feels all the way down to his toes, that chases off any chill that might have been left in the air around them. No, there's only heat now, warmth and love and security and _them_.

Oliver wraps his arms around her, hugging her closer, returning her kiss until oxygen becomes an issue again. He curses his body's need for it, because it means letting her lips go, which is just not a goddamn option right now. They pull back, both of them panting, but it's too far and one deep breath is all he needs before his lips slant over hers again. He needs to keep kissing her, to feel more of her. He's suddenly _starved_ for her in a way he hasn't been in such a long time. They don't get chances like this anymore, they don't get these moments to let go, to give in, to stoke the fire until they're both about to be burned alive. Oliver savors the solid press of her backside exactly where he needs it, one hand slipping down low on her stomach to pull her back even closer. She moans, the sound reverberating against his lips.

"God, Felicity," he gasps, the steady want for his wife that's been simmering all night rocketing to a boiling point.

She moans in response, arching her back before she suddenly turns. Their lips break away for barely a second, but it's a second too much and the instant she's facing him, he grabs her close, kissing her again. He can't get enough and he doesn't want to get enough. He's insatiable, just as much as she is as she slips her hands inside his hood to cup his face.

The realization that he's still in his Arrow suit, that he still has his hood up and his mask on, hits him, but then Felicity tugs his bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it. Sparks burst across his nerves, his mind going blank at the sensation before she's kissing him again.

Oliver groans, his hands spanning the length of her back before dropping down to her ass. Her damn jacket is in the way, though. He forgets all about whatever the hell he's wearing and focuses on her, on the various barriers between her naked flesh and his hands.

In one smooth move, he slips his hands under the collar of her coat and pushes it off her shoulders. She whines at having to stop touching him even for second - god, he knows that feeling - but she lets go long enough for it to land in an ungraceful heap at their feet.

The lights are still out, their rendezvous still in the dark, and the only reason he's even remotely aware of that is because it's dark one second and the next all the lights are coming back on. They flicker to life, filling the shadowed space, chasing away the shadows that'd been keeping any prying eyes from seeing the Arrow ravaging Felicity Queen. That thought alone should have made him stop, made him realize where they were and what he was wearing, but he's too far gone to care.

As Felicity pulls back just enough to look around in surprise, to blink at the sudden onslaught of light, all Oliver can do is lean down and grip her ass, picking her up in one smooth movement.

"Oliver!" his wife gasps with a delighted laugh, her hands flying to his shoulders for balance, her dress hiking up around her hips as she wraps her legs around his waist.

He spins them away from the open part of the balcony and towards the area where enclosures can hide them from any wandering eyes. He may be getting on in years, but working out every day for more than a decade leaves him barely feeling her weight as he heads straight for the first chaise he can find. He tries to keep an eye on where he's going as he presses his face against her sequin-clad chest, relishing the broken way she whimpers when his lips find a hard nipple through the material.

Part of him wants to slow down, to take his time, but the rest of him only feels the fervor of her hands slipping under his hood, her nails scraping against his throat, only hears her needy pants as he tightens his fingers on her ass… No, that's not true. He does want to take his time, with _her_. As much as he wants to lay her down and bury himself deep inside her, he wants to stretch this out as long as possible.

His knee hits the chaise before he can slow down, running into with so much force it skids away from them. He growls a curse under his breath, pulling back to see where the hell it is as Felicity giggles. The sound is so carefree and happy and it burns through him, making him grin as he unceremoniously leans over, one hand finding the chaise for balance, the other keeping his wife securely fastened to him.

Oliver sets her down and instantly blankets her body with his, his lips finding hers again. He groans when he tastes her, feeling like a damn addict, so desperate for her he burns.

Felicity moans, arching her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, seeking friction. She kicks her heels off, one landing next to them on the floor, the other flying somewhere else. Not that he cares, because she plants her feet against the chaise to leverage her hips again his, making him hiss.

The slow thrust he allows himself is a stark contrast to the desperate way he drinks at her lips. Felicity whines, needing more, her hips jerking up against his firmly. Oliver gasps, the heat between her thighs searing through him, his already hard cock swelling even more. His leather pants are like a vice grip, pulled taut, but they do nothing to diminish the sensation.

Oliver moans, his hips thrusting harder against her.

Not yet, he thinks, if he gives in now it will be over much too fast and he wants to savor this, to make it last… but if she keeps moving like that, he's not going to last. He thinks about pulling back, about taking his time, about peeling this dress off of her. _No_. Oh god, _no_. If he sees her fully naked and writhing underneath him… He's got willpower, but he's only human, and a man desperately in love with the woman whimpering beneath him as she undulates her hips into him.

He's got limits.

And he's about to reach them.

With a ragged whine, Oliver breaks away from her lips and slides down her body.

"Oliver," she murmurs, opening her eyes to follow him. Her hands reach for him as if to pull him back up, but he shakes his head, capturing one of them to kiss her palm softly. "But…"

"Not yet," he interrupts, kissing her palm again before dropping a kiss on her still-clothed breast and then making his way down. Her breath hitches, her ribs barely expanding with her short, shallow pants as he works his way down her body. He glances up at her to find her teeth digging into her bottom lip, her eyes intent on him. She's _stunning_ , so much so it takes his breath away and Oliver can't help but surge back up to kiss her once more, just needing to. It's searing, highlighting the need scorching through his veins, and before it can get out of control again, he pulls back with a harsh, "I need to taste you, Felicity."

"Yes," she whispers with a desperate nod. "Yes… _Please_. Oliver…"

Only later will Oliver have any recognition of the fact that he's still wearing his Arrow gear, that he's still wearing his mask. Years ago that would have bothered him, to the point that he might have even felt guilty about it. But no longer. There's no line between Oliver Queen and the Arrow. There's just him, both of those things rolled into one. In a strange way it's fitting, considering what they're celebrating tonight.

He slides back down the length of her body, pausing long enough to nuzzle her neck and collarbone, to drag his mouth over the sequins covering her breast, to run his hands down her curves. He kneels on the ground at her feet and pulls her legs further apart.

"Oh _god_ ," Felicity moans, her hips thrusting up even though he hasn't started touching her yet.

Oliver pushes her dress up further out of the way, loving the way her skin flushes under his touch, how hot she is, how she pants, how her thighs quiver with need. Everything about her screams of anticipation and want, and all of it is emphasized by the gold little pieces she's wearing. He wants to take a snapshot of the way she looks right now in his mind and keep it forever, because she's two steps beyond beautiful and straight on to breathtaking.

She whines his name, looking down at him where he rests between her legs. When their eyes meet, she shudders and without taking his eyes off her, he leans in and presses a kiss against her lace-covered sex, directly over her clit.

Every bit of her responds like a live wire that's suddenly sparking to life. Her head falls back, her body rising up, her hips jerking against his face, seeking pressure from him as her neck flushes beautifully. He loves watching her, loves knowing each stage of her pleasure, watching her get worked up before she falls apart. Because of _him_.

Oliver swipes his tongue over her through the thin blue lace panties, tasting her through the material. He does it again, pressing harder, his eyes glued to her as he rubs against her.

" _Yes_ ," Felicity whines, pushing one of her hands under his hood. She buries her hand in his hair, her nails scraping at his scalp before she grips it, pressing his face closer with a whimper. Oliver runs his hands over her creamy soft thighs before he lifts her legs over his shoulders, his hands anchoring her hips in place. "Yes, yes, yes… _Oliver._ "

He sucks at her through the lace, opening his mouth to take as much of her into his mouth as he can before he concentrates on the little pearl he can feel through the material. He knows her body as well as he knows his own, knows exactly what she likes and where, but he still savors the way she jolts against him with a sharp cry, testing the restraint of his hands.

With all his attention on her, Oliver finds it much easier to slow down, to take his time. He sucks on her, building her up slowly. He abandons her core for a moment to lick and nip at her inner thigh, sucking on the flesh one moment before scraping it with his stubble and teeth the next. But as much as he knows she's enjoying it, it doesn't satisfy her for long. Felicity tugs on his hair hard, making his scalp tingle in a blatant show of where exactly she wants him.

"Oliver… please." She tries to push her hips closer as she presses his face deeper between her legs, but he's got her well-anchored. "Please… pleasepleasepleaseplease…"

The word slips past her lips in a litany of desire, an absolute cascade of want.

He can't deny her. He's never been able to.

Oliver wants to take her panties off, but when he pulls back to do just that, she shakes her head with a desperate, "No, no, don't stop," and he doesn't. He slides one hand over her mound and pulls her panties to the side, exposing her wet sex. Her scent washes over him so powerfully that it makes his head spin and his mouth water. It's pure instinct that has him tugging her further down the chaise, both hands wrapped around her hips, fingers hooked in her panties.

She's soaking wet, her pink folds glistening with her desire.

Oliver licks his way up her slit, making her thrust up against his face with a few desperate bids for air. Both hands slide into his hair, shoving his hood back as she pulls him closer. He does it again, tasting her thoroughly. Her flavor explodes across his tongue, rich and feminine and _Felicity_. His craving for more is bone-deep and he groans, pushing his hands further around her hips to spread her apart. He teases her with his tongue from her entrance to her clit, gathering up every drop of her essence that her body can provide. He can't get enough of her - he'll _never_ get enough of her - and, god, does he feel lucky to have this, to have her, to share their lives together.

"Oliver," Felicity moans, long and low.

He swirls his tongue around her stiffened clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue before flicking at it lightly. Her hips work against him in counterpoint, her nails digging into his scalp.

Every bit of him is keyed into the clues her body gives him - the quickening of her breath, the tensing of her quivering thighs, the tightening grip on his hair. He works her up until she's shaking with her pending release, until her hips move with mindless abandon, until he knows nothing else matters right now but the pleasure he's giving her… and just when she's about to peak, when he hears that telltale gaspy moan that signals her pleasure building to the point of breaking, he pulls back, his tongue slipping down to tease her entrance.

"Oliver, please," she whines. Her dress is a rumpled mess around her, her hair a riot of tousled waves, her skin flushed beyond the telling of it. She blindly drags her fingers down the side of his face, her nails catching on his mask. "Please. _Please_."

He wants to tease her, to drag this out, but her pleas cuts right through any resolve he might have had.

With a nod and a whispered, "I've got you," Oliver lets one of her legs go and slips it around, sliding two fingers inside her as he wraps his lips around her clit. She chokes on her next breath, her back arching up off the chaise. He strokes his fingers in and out firmly, angling them just right, seeking out that place inside her that responds so beautifully to his touch. Even if he didn't know her body by heart now, he'd know the instant his fingers find that spot because she gets _loud_.

"Oh… _fuck_."

It's a sharp cry that bleeds out into the night. It's very possible that some neighboring room might hear her, but he doesn't care in the least. At home they have to be quiet, restrained - three little kids demand it - but here he can make her scream. And he very much intends to take advantage of that.

Oliver sucks on her clit, rubbing his tongue against it with every motion. He presses against her with his fingers, rubbing solidly at that spot inside her, knowing he can make her see stars.

"Don't stop," she cries, her head flying up to stare at him. The second their eyes meet, that seems to push her over the edge more than anything and her grip on him tightens as she nods frantically. "Don't stop. Oh _god_ , _yes_ , right there… Right there, right there, _right there_."

She's shaking uncontrollably, her cries echoing around them. She's so close he can taste it, feel it surging through her muscles. He wants her to fall apart, to explode around his fingers. Oliver sucks harder, his eyes never leaving hers, and then he adds a third finger, filling her even more. With a soundless scream, her entire body seizes… and then she shatters, her orgasm rocketing through her with a loud cry of his name.

It's entrancing the way she clings to him, the way she undulates under his touch, her hips thrusting uncontrollably against his hand as he strokes her through her orgasm. It doesn't seem possible that he can get harder, but the sight of her as she crumbles under his touch does it.

He needs her.

 _Now_.

But he doesn't move. The only thing he does is let her panties go to tug his mask down, letting it settle around his neck as he stares at her, his lids heavy with arousal.

"Oh… my god," she breathes, her body finally falling still. Her legs fall to the side, her inner walls spasming around his fingers. He slides them in and out a few more times, making her gasp before he pulls them out. "That is… that was…"

"That was round one," he says and just as she looks down at him with an intrigued smile, he licks his fingers clean. The smile disappears as she flushes at the sight.

"Oliver."

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice gravelly as he wipes his chin.

"C'mere," Felicity whispers, crooking a finger at him.

He doesn't have to be told twice. Oliver crawls up over her body, careful to keep his weight off her, knowing how sensitive she gets. But she doesn't seem to have the same cares because the instant he's over her, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and tugs him down on top of her. Her whimper echoes his moan when his hardness settles against her soft, wet heat. It's all his body needs to give in as he falls against her.

"God, Felicity," he gasps, his hips jerking against hers. God, his suit's going to smell like her. He is so not complaining. "You feel-"

Felicity cuts him off with a kiss, humming with pleasure when she tastes herself on his lips like she always does. It's not long before the kiss becomes heated, growing harder, more demanding. He's not sure if it's her or him doing that, but he doesn't care, because she's lifting her legs, letting him settle even further against her sex. He's moving before he can really think, his hips thrusting against her, making them both moan.

"I need you," she says against his lips, her hands sliding up his leather-covered back. He nods, his mind firing blanks, all his focus on the friction she's giving him. "Now, Oliver. _Now_. Round two."

That makes him laugh, a grin splitting his face. Felicity smiles, cupping his face to keep him still as she kisses him again. She pulls her legs up higher, digging her feet into his ass to push him closer to her. Her face goes slack with a new round of pleasure as he groans her name.

"Now," she reiterates, dragging her nails down his spine, her lips brushing against his as she speaks. "I need you inside me, Oliver, deep, deep-"

It's his turn to cut her off, his lips slanting over hers. She mewls, pressing her breasts against his chest just before she pulls back, shoving on his shoulders.

"Get up," she says, urging him away from her.

Oliver frowns, a sight that makes her giggle, which in turn makes him smile as he does as she asks. It's awkward as hell with the ever-present bulge in his pants, but he manages, offering her a hand up off the chaise. She steps gingerly herself, wincing when the lace of her panties rubs against her tender flesh, but she ignores it in favor of cupping him through his pants. He goes stock-still, his jaw falling open as she starts to work the buttons loose. She's considerably shorter without her heels on, which somehow makes her presence all the more powerful, just like earlier at the house. Although these are far different circumstances and he's more than content to let her take control as she undoes his pants.

When she goes to tug them down, though, the leather proves to be just as aggravating as it had been all night. He huffs out a laugh when she growls at them before helping.

"Have these always been this tight?" Felicity asks as she grits her teeth, pushing them down his hips with his assistance.

"Well," Oliver replies, "I'm not usually spending my nights hard as hell anymore because I had to wait a few hours to get inside my wife."

Felicity chuckles as they finally get his pants down his hips. "Let's remedy that, shall we?"

"Yes," he says with a nod, pulling her back up just enough to kiss her. " _Please_."

The kiss lingers before he leans down to unlace his boots just enough to kick them away. He yanks his pants off next, leaving him in his boxers and Arrow jacket. He doesn't bother with that, although Felicity does pull the zipper of it down, pushing her hands up and inside the black t-shirt he has on underneath as his hands find her bare hips.

"Your turn," he whispers, hooking his fingers in her panties. He pushes them down her hips until they slide on their own as Felicity unhooks the top of her dress. It falls down, revealing her beautiful, full breasts. She pushes the dress down her hips, leaving her bare before him, and his jaw drops as he takes her in. "I will never get over how beautiful you are."

Felicity flushes with pleasure, just like she had when he told her how she looked in that dress.

Oliver pulls her into his arms, aware for all of two seconds that the outside air around them is still chilly, not that he minds. But his wife… Oliver pulls her close, his hands pressing against her naked back before he slides one up into her hair. She sighs and something tells him that she doesn't mind the cold, either. Her nipples are hard where they brush against his chest, but he knows it's not the chilly air as she presses a kiss to his collarbone before pushing his boxers down, letting his hard erection free.

Felicity doesn't waste a second, tugging on his shirt, urging him to turn and sit on the chaise. He settles back, his eyes never leaving hers as she follows him, straddling his lap. His hardness slips against her wet sex and his hands fly to her hips, gripping her tight.

Words aren't needed, not anymore. They haven't been, because they both just _know_.

The love and passion and gratitude and hope and warmth and… _all_ of it fills the air between them as Felicity takes him in hand, positioning him at her entrance. His eyes threaten to roll back at the sensation of her heat as she lowers herself down on him, but he doesn't dare close his eyes. They stay locked on hers, just as much as hers stays on him.

She slowly sinks down on him, moving until he's deep inside her, their pelvises flush together. It's worlds apart from earlier. The hunger still simmers under the surface, the passion still present, but there's something softer and more deliberate now. It's raw, intimate, and it takes his breath away as they stare at each other, his body filling hers.

 _This_. This is what their anniversary was about. Not sex, and not even love. No, it's about unity, on an entirely different level, a connection, a partnership. This, beyond anything else, is the best part of his life.

She starts moving, a slow, gentle thrust. Her hands cover his where they rest on her hips, lacing her fingers through his, connecting them even more as she moves on top of him.

It's perfect, in so many ways, so many damn ways…

"Felicity," he whispers, his voice cracking at the end. He doesn't want this moment to end, but it's been such a long night, and he's so close. He wants to stay entwined with her, just like this, but his body isn't going to allow it. "God, baby, I'm so close."

She nods, her eyelids fluttering as she replies, "Me, too." Her hips start moving faster, driving down on him with a new urgency. He helps her, pushing her down even more with their clasped hands. She's so beautiful, and the sight of her pleasure growing urges his on. As the minutes pass, her brow furrows, highlighting the light sheen of sweat on her brow. "Oliver…"

It's not enough for her to come. He knows what she wants, what she needs. He sighs her name as he slips a hand from her hip to where they're joined in search of her tender clit. When his thumb brushes over it, she jerks hard, thrusting down with redoubled force.

She tries to keep her eyes open as she gasps out a desperate, "Oh god," but when he rubs faster, she can't fight it anymore. She falls against him as her pleasure builds. "Oliver… Oliver…"

"I've got you," he whispers, pulling his other hand where it's still tangled with one of hers around her. He cradles her close, pressing his face to hers. "I've got you."

They've got each other.

 _Always_.

Oliver watches her as she crests, his breasts bouncing between them, her hair fluttering in the night breeze, her hips rocking against his. He works his thumb against her, transfixed by the way her lips part, by the noises she's making, the way they echo his own moans.

Felicity suddenly stiffens, but her hips move even faster, her forehead falling against his. She grips his neck, her fingers in his squeezing tightly.

"Oh god," Oliver whines, his thumb losing coordination as sensation takes over. She doesn't need it, though, not judging by the way she clings to him, the way she cries out as she rides him harder. He plants his heels on the chaise, his hands slipping back to her hips as he drives up into her, meeting her every thrust.

"Oh!" she cries out. "Oh _god_ … oh _god_ , Oliver…!"

He feels the instant she breaks, just as much as he hears her sharp shout from deep in her chest. A flood of her wetness coats him as her inner walls clamp down around him, urging him on even more.

She cups his face with shaking hands and whispers, "Come for me, Oliver."

He's so _close_.

"Felicity, I… _oh god_!"

She pulls back to look at him with pleasure-glazed eyes, and the instant their eyes connect, Oliver snaps. He grabs her hips and pounds up into her with abandon, pulling her down at the same time…

Oliver comes with a heavy shout, his voice echoing louder than hers. His eyes never leave hers, his vision whiting out around the edges as he empties himself inside her.

It's some time before his vision clears, before his blood slows and the nighttime chill sets in. A breeze drifts over their sweat-dampened skin, but neither of them move. Felicity's draped across him, his arms wrapped tight around her, her body sticking to his and her face buried in his neck. Her hot breath dancing across his skin is blissfully warm and he sighs in contentment as he turns to kiss her temple. Her hair's damp with their exertions as he presses his lips to her, a soft press of affection he'd brand into her skin if he could.

With a happy moan, Felicity pulls back to look at him. If he'd thought she'd been wrecked earlier, it has nothing on right now. She's sin and grace all in one.

"That was amazing," she says.

Oliver nods, taking a deep breath, lifting her as his chest expands. "It really was," he replies, bushing a now-curly strand of hair away from her brow.

"We make a helluva team."

He chuckles. "We do." Oliver kisses her softly, again and again as he adds, "And that, my love, is entirely what tonight was about."


	12. July 2030

**July 2030**

An earthy breeze fills the SUV, blowing through the passenger-side window, ruffling his hair as they cruise down the mountain road. It's uncomfortably warm, but at least it's dry, and Will actually finds it quite pleasant with the windows down.

He really _shouldn't_ be here. He wasn't supposed to be. He was _supposed_ to be helping his teammates beat Coast City, but a broken thumb in last week's game meant he was out for at least the next month, if not the rest of the season. At least he isn't dependent on his scholarship, but it still kinda blows, even if there's also no way around it.

So, instead of sitting on the bench this weekend, he's headed to go camping with his dad and his brother. His coach hadn't been happy, and that's an understatement. Yeah, part of him wants to be there for his team for sure, but he also knows this trip is important to his dad and he wants to be there for him even more.

"You okay back there, bud?" his dad asks, looking into the rearview mirror. "You're being awfully quiet."

"I'm fine," Nate replies.

Will glances back at the eight-year-old to find his younger brother staring at the tablet in his hands with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Playing Tetris," Nate answers, swiping at the screen with more intensity than Will's ever seen in any recent second grade graduate. "You've gotta make everything fit in the right place."

" _Tetris_?" his dad repeats with a little laugh, glancing toward the back seat. "I remember playing that when I was a kid."

Nate blinks, looking up from the screen in his hands. His eyes are even more owlish behind his new glasses. It's cute, even if it adds to his overall meek appearance. "Wow," he says. "That's, like, _really_ old."

"Thanks, Nate," his dad replies dryly as he pulls into a gravel parking lot. It's pretty damn empty considering the nice weather. His dad still heads towards the far corner, adding, "No tech while we're camping, though."

"Is that why Mom didn't come?"

It's an innocent enough question, but Will can't help the laugh that slips out. _It's true_. His stepmother is pretty awesome, but picturing her out of wifi range is something that does not compute in his head.

"Jules has dance practice and Ellie's got summer camp. Your mom has to take them," Oliver says, casting Will a look that has him covering his grin with one hand. But he does raise his eyebrows back at his dad and after a moment Oliver relents. "And the lack of internet might drive her crazy inside of a day."

"You think?" Will asks from behind his hand, still chuckling.

His stepmom is not what anyone would call 'outdoorsy.' But even if she was - even the idea of it has Will chuckling again - she wouldn't have tagged along. He's sure she'd known that this was an opportunity for the Queen men to bond.

And William _is_ a Queen, in every sense of the word.

When his mom had married David, she'd taken his last name. Will had solidly refused and, despite one hell of a fight with his mom, he'd changed his last name to Queen the moment he'd turned eighteen.

He doesn't want to think about his mom right now. There's more than one reason he's spending the summer at his dad's house this year. It's not _just_ that it's a whole lot easier for baseball practice. There's also his extremely colicky newborn half-sister. And, sure… she's cute and whatever. His mom's entitled to have more kids if that's what she wants, but he doesn't have to like it. He's twenty-two, for god's sake, a senior in college. By the time his mom was his age, she'd already had _him_. He thinks it's more than understandable if he has a problem with spending his summer coming home to a screaming baby sister.

"You alright?" his dad asks.

Will's head jerks up to find they're parked and both his dad and Nate are out of the car, standing a few feet away from his open window.

"Yeah," he confirms a little uneasily - his dad is staring at him like he's positive Will is anything but - before shaking off his thoughts. "I'm good." He opens the door before his dad can inquire though. Thankfully he lets it slide as Will heads to the back of the SUV, asking, "We got everything?"

"Yep." His dad nods, throwing a small backpack over his shoulder. Unsurprisingly, he's traveling light. Given his life experiences, his dad probably considers the tent and sleeping mats a luxury. Oliver nods toward the trailhead. "We should get moving," he says. "It's a solid mile to the campground and we'll want to get there early so I can catch dinner before it gets dark."

" _Catch_ dinner?" Nate asks warily, looking up at his father.

"Fish, buddy," Oliver tells him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "There's salmon in the river next to the campground. I thought I'd make some spears and we could hunt them together."

Nate's skin goes ashen at that, his eyes widening almost comically. "We're going to _kill_ them?"

Will shakes his head with a silent laugh as he grabs his own backpack from the back of the car. He could have seen this coming from a mile away, but his dad is obviously taken by surprise. He stands there, staring at Nate, looking a little like a fish out of water himself.

"It's… they're dinner," Oliver tells his youngest, clearly at a loss for how to explain it past that. Will winces as he closes the back hatch of the SUV.

"But they're _alive_ ," Nate emphasizes. "And we're gonna kill them?"

It's an ironic question, given what their father does when the cover of darkness falls. Not that he actually _kills_ , but Will knows the Arrow doesn't exactly shy away if the situation calls for it, especially when it involves someone he loves. Still, it's a miracle that Nate hasn't wandered out of the playroom at the lair yet to watch their dad on a mission over the monitors. It'll happen eventually. The kid's extremely good at following directions, but there's just no avoiding the inevitable.

Will sighs. It's going to be a mess when Nate finally sees firsthand just what their dad does at his night job.

"Nate, you eat meat and fish all the time," Oliver reminds him, his voice gentle. "Hamburgers are your favorite food."

"Yeah, but I don't have to see the cow die!" Nate protests.

The disappointment on their dad's face sort of guts Will. He knows his dad, knows how much this trip means to him, that he'd envisioned something very different from what's unfolding right now. And Will absolutely wants to help salvage that experience for them both.

"How about Nate helps cook the fish instead of helping catch it," he suggests to his dad and brother. "It'll be like when you help mom at home. Dad can catch it, I'll clean it, and Nate can cook it. With supervision. Sound good?"

The gratitude that slips across his father's face is all Will needs to see as Nate gives a tentative nod. "I guess," his little brother agrees. "As long as there are s'mores later." His eyes widen for a very different reason as he looks back at Oliver. "Are there s'mores?"

"Of course there are," Oliver assures him. "What's camping without s'mores?"

"Might as well be marooned on an island at that point," Will adds dryly, hiking his bag further up his shoulder. It earns him an amused stinkeye from his father as Will walks past the two of them. "You two coming or what?" he calls back over his shoulder.

Oliver chuckles, shaking his head before following, Nate close behind. That his dad doesn't close off and turn tight-lipped says a tremendous amount about how far he's come since Will met his father.

It had been so hard for him at first, and Felicity says it had been harder still in the years prior. But something in his dad has settled over time, grown to accept both himself and his own tumultuous history. And, as much as Will is grateful for that for his father's sake, he's even more grateful for Nate's. His little brother is such a gentle soul, sensitive; if there was a separation between them now, Will can't imagine what it would be like with past versions of their father.

Nate's even older now than Will had been when he'd met their dad, which is a hell of a thing to realize. But while Will had bonded with his father pretty quickly - having longed for the presence of a dad his entire life - sometimes it seems like Nate and his dad don't quite know how to do that. They seem to circle each other, trying to find even footing. They love each other. That's very obvious. Nate's an affectionate kid - sometimes to a fault - and his dad's learned to be expressive about his feelings with his family. But Will's pretty sure there's a lot of times they don't really understand each other. Nate's so precise, so analytical, and their dad is so… not.

That's why days like this are so important. It's why Will's here instead of sitting on the bench. He likes being with his dad and his brother, but he also likes acting sort of like a translator between them. They need it, sometimes.

And he kinda wants to have a chat with his dad.

For as nice of a day as it is, the three of them are mostly alone on the trail, save for one family going the opposite direction. They do a double take, obviously recognizing his dad, but Will's used to that by now. He just gives a nod as they pass before realizing Nate's stopped to pick up a leaf.

"You're quiet," his dad says, jarring him from his thoughts again. Will turns to find his father studying him. "What's up?"

Will shrugs. "Just… stuff."

"About your mom?" he asks, raising both eyebrows.

Will nods. "Some of it," he replies with a sigh.

"She's got her hands full, Will," Oliver tells him as they start walking again. "And I get it if you aren't thrilled to be around a newborn all the time, but you're every bit as important to her as you were a year ago. You know that, right?"

Will lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. He _does_ know that. And after everything his dad's gone through with Jules, he gets why this is something he feels the need to emphasize, but it's really not the core of Will's problems.

"I got it," he assures his dad as they start walking again. It's a painfully slow pace for both him and his dad, but Nate's not exactly quick on his feet anyway. Add into it that he keeps finding new specimens for his leaf collection, and they're more or less stuck matching his stride. "I know she's not replacing me or anything."

"Do you?" Oliver asks with a knowing look. "You've never liked David and I know that's caused problems for you and your mom. I can't say I'm sorry that it means you're spending a lot more time at my place - I'm not - but she's your mom, Will."

"I know that," Will answers. It comes out sharper than he means and that, more than anything, makes it seem like his father's stumbled onto something he'd rather not consider. "I love Mom, and Bethany is… she's fine. The colic sucks, but she'll get over it and then I'll have a little sister. Who will probably be closer in age to my kids one day than to me, but whatever. That's fine. Mom's happy and she loves David and I know it's not Bethany replacing me."

The words give away far more than Will's given any conscious thought to, and his dad instantly picks up on it as well. Oliver stops, grabbing Will's sleeve to earn his attention. He pauses, but he doesn't look at him for a second.

"It's David," his dad surmises. Will's jaw is tight and he works it back and forth as the tension in his muscles mount, but his father isn't done. "It isn't the baby you feel replaced by; it's your stepfather."

Will's eyes dart to Nate where he stands a few feet away. He's picking up more leaves and pressing them in between pages of a notebook.

"Mom and I were fine," Will tells his dad, his voice low so Nate can't hear. "We were _fine_. Me and her? It was good. We didn't need David or my stupid stepsister Macy or even Bethany."

The way his father looks at him has him feeling about twelve again - it's all sad sympathy and Will hates it. He huffs, ducking his head to avoid his gaze, suddenly wishing he'd never said anything.

" _You_ were fine, Will," his dad tells him after a minute. "But you're an adult. You can't blame your mom for wanting more in her life than just you. I know you get that. She deserved to fall in love and get married, if that was what she wanted."

"I know that," Will grumbles.

"You're moving on with your own life. You've grown up, Will," his dad points out. "If it weren't for baseball, you'd be done with college already. She'd be alone."

"I know that, too," Will admits, kicking a rock. "It's dumb. I get that."

"It's how you feel," his father corrects. "That's not dumb. But, Will, you've gotta figure out how to get past this. They've been married for six years. David's not going anywhere."

Will knows he's right, but it's not something he really wants to consider right now. This wasn't anywhere on his agenda of things to talk to his dad about. The smart thing to do would be to nod and not say anything else, but his mouth's opening all on its own.

"Doesn't mean I have to like him," Will says petulantly.

If he hated how his dad looked at him earlier, he really, _really_ hates the way he just stands there, looking at him like he sees right through him. It's _frustrating._ He feels petty and ridiculous, but he's also stubborn as hell about this. It's funny, because he's usually a pretty easy going guy. But with this? With this he's dug his heels in and that isn't changing anytime soon.

Will sighs. "Can we talk about literally anything else?" he asks his dad.

He expects his dad to give in immediately - he saw something was bothering him earlier, and he'll see it now - but instead his whole face tightens up, the lines of his brow deepening.

"Yeah, just…" Oliver pauses. "Will, you don't feel that way about Felicity, do you?"

"What?" Will asks. "No, of course not."

The idea hadn't even _occurred_ to him. Felicity is… well, she's Felicity. She's been in his life since he was _six_. She came with his dad as a package deal. He can't even imagine his life without her at this point and he sure as hell can't picture his dad without her.

"Good," his dad breathes out in relief. "That's good."

"Felicity's been like a second mom to me since I was in first grade," Will adds, not willing to let that stand unsaid. "She's driven me to batting practice and took me to see Santa even though she's Jewish and helped me learn to ride a bike. It's different."

"Because you grew up with her around," Oliver notes before sighing heavily. "Will... I don't know for sure, but I'd bet just about anything that your mom held off on dating until you were older because she wanted to focus on you. You can't hold it against David that he wasn't there when you were growing up. Your mom wouldn't have let him be there. He's a good guy. He's your sister's dad and he deserves the same chance you gave Felicity. Even if he's coming into your life a bit late."

"Yeah," Will grumbles.

It doesn't help anything that he already knows all this. He's self-aware enough to realize everything his dad is saying is true, even if he hates it. He'd really like to hate his stepfather. Sometimes it sucks that, as much as his parents aren't really friends, they always have each other's backs and they always have his best interests at heart. In some ways, he's really lucky. A lot of his friends whose parents aren't together fight a lot. While he's sure his mom and dad have had more than a few squabbles, he's never once been privy to them.

Nate wriggles a bit a few feet away. "Dad?"

"Sorry, buddy," his dad says. "We're almost there."

"I gotta pee," Nate announces. His voice is subdued with embarrassment, which is amazing considering it was just a few years ago that he had a penchant for stripping and running around the house naked.

"Okay," Oliver tells him. "We can stop for a minute. Just find a tree."

The utter look of horror that transforms his little brother's face makes it really, really hard for Will not to laugh. But, _oh man_ , Nate is suddenly bright red with wide, disbelieving eyes and Will sort of wishes the no-tech-ban-on-the-camping-trip let him have a camera on him.

"A _tree_?" Nate asks.

"There aren't really any other options right now, kiddo," his dad replies, doing his best to keep a smile off his face.

"But that's…" Nate looks around like he's afraid someone might overhear. There's no one, though, and with the way the little guy is dancing, he's going to have to give in sooner rather than later. He doesn't give in though as he practically hisses, "That's not what trees are for."

"It's absolutely what I used them for on Lian Yu," his dad tells him glibly before grabbing his hand. He leads the balking eight-year-old off the path. "Come on. I'll stand guard and block you in case anyone walks by, okay?"

"I'll play sentry on the path," Will chimes in, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and looking down the empty trail.

Nate wants to fight it - Will's sure he's about to ask if they can just go back to the car and find a bathroom - but it's too urgent for that. He lets out a whimper of frustration before he and their dad disappear in the underbrush.

Not surprisingly, nobody happens along the path. It's stupid, really, because it's a gorgeous summer day and what's wrong with people in this city that they aren't out enjoying nature? They live next to all this forest, but nobody takes advantage of it. Will doesn't get it. But it works for their purposes right now and before long Nate and Oliver shuffle back toward him. Nate's still red-faced and his hands are shoved into his pockets as he stares at his toes.

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad," his dad says, ruffling Nate's hair.

Nate pulls a face and ducks away. "How do I wash my hands? I need a sink."

"You can rinse them in the river once we get to the campsite," Oliver tells him.

The incredulous look Nate shoots their dad is just too much and Will has to turn away for a second, unable to stop his laughter.

"I hate nature," Nate bemoans.

"Be glad it's just an overnight camping trip instead of washing up on shore on a deserted island, then," Oliver tells him. "Come on, kiddo."

"But we're not on a deserted island," Nate murmurs and Will turns back just in time to see his little brother sigh dramatically before ambling forward, shoulders hunched and dragging his feet. The kid is overplaying his dissatisfaction, but it's still obviously a hit to their dad who is just out to make good memories with his sons. Oliver pinches his lips together, watching him go for a second before following.

And that's part of why Will's here. He knows how to break through this tension. He's become really good at making himself the jokester, or the butt of jokes. Some days it feels like a weird mix of dad humor and court jester, but it works.

Sticking his finger in his mouth, Will jogs to catch up with his little brother. When he's close enough, he wraps his arm around Nate's shoulders and sticks the moistened finger in his ear.

" _Ew!"_ Nate shouts, trying to shove him away as Will wriggles the finger around. "Dad, make him stop! Will, that's _gross_."

"Aw, man, talk about gross, you've got _pee_ hands on me now," Will says, pulling his hands away and holding them up in mock surrender. "That's nasty. You haven't even rinsed those things yet. I'm gonna die of Nate cooties."

Nate can't seem to decide if he's more horrified by the wet willy or his own unwashed hands, but at least it gets his dad going. A full-throated, completely amused laugh spills from deep in his chest, echoing down the trail as Nate shoves at Will again.

Mission accomplished, Will decides, pulling Nate closer and giving the kid a noogie.

The eight-year-old pretends he doesn't like it, but he can't hide his growing grin. Nate might be about as straight-laced as they come, but beneath his precise and carefully polished exterior he's still just a little boy and he's always thrilled to be at the center of attention for his dad and his big brother.

"It's cool," Will says, dropping a kiss on his little brother's head. "Nate cooties are my favorite kind."

The boy flushes, shoving his shoulder into his big brother as their father watches on with a quietly happy smile. It's always been easy for Will to bond with his siblings. After some initial hesitation with Jules, he'd found himself completed enamoured with both her and his role as big brother. When Ellie had come along and then Nate, he'd been every bit as thrilled and taken on the role with relish. He's not sure why he isn't doing the same thing with Bethany, but he'd really rather not think about it. It's just different.

It isn't more than a moment before the roar of a nearby river grows loud enough that it drowns out their laughter and, sure enough, they spill into a clearing with a couple of picnic tables and a large, unused firepit. There's no one else around which only reinforces Will's opinion that the residents of Starling City need to get out more.

"Here we go," his dad announces, surveying the campground.

"But… where are we staying?" Nate asks in confusion, his little brow furrowing.

"In the tent," his dad tells him, patting the pack on his back. "After we set it up."

"You mean there's not a _bed_?" Nate asks in horror.

"It's camping, Nate," his dad answers with some hesitation. "Did you think there would be?"

"I thought… I dunno, there'd be a cabin or something." Nate looks around, like he's waiting for said cabin to magically appear. "There's really not a bed?"

"There's really not," Will says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. You won't die of exposure and lack of wifi overnight. That kind of thing takes time."

"Tell that to Mom," Nate grumbles.

Will laughs as Oliver shrugs the bag off his back. He nods at his dad and Oliver tosses it to his eldest, who catches it easily with his one good hand. The damn splint on his other thumb is driving him nuts, but whatever. It's necessary.

"Wanna help me build our shelter, scrub?" Will asks the kid.

"Scrub?" Nate repeats warily. "What the heck does that mean?"

"Is that seriously slang again?" their dad asks, pausing where he's grabbed a stick that Will is pretty sure he's going to use to actually catch them dinner. "That was a thing back when _I_ was a kid."

Will shrugs. "Everything old is new again." The disbelief on his dad's face is probably more amusing than it should be, but Will tugs open the bag and looks at his little brother as their father goes back to his stick, shaking his head. "Wanna give me a hand with this?"

"I guess," Nate says, even if he's obviously not thrilled about it. "Where are the directions?"

Will huffs a laugh because he already knows the answer before their dad says a word.

"It's a piece of tarp and four sticks," Oliver says, most of his focus on his stick. "Why would you need instructions."

That is the wrong thing to say. Nate The Rule Follower blanches. Will could have seen this coming a mile away, but their dad, apparently, hadn't quite anticipated it, which is kind of dumb. His little brother is the step-by-step procedural kid who keeps the rules handy whenever they play any kind of board game, who _only_ follows directions when building with Legos. Who apparently only puts up tents with a list of edicts.

"Because they're _instructions_!" Nate insists, sounding more than a little panicky at the idea of winging it. "They tell you what to do and they make sure it doesn't fall down!"

"Nate…" Oliver says, looking up from where he's crouched, sharpening a stick with his pocketknife. "So what if it falls? That just means you get up and try again. You've got this."

There's a lesson there, but Nate clearly doesn't see it and the poor kid is flying fast past the point of panic, so Will steps in.

"I've done this before, buddy," Will says. "Don't worry."

"Yeah?" Nate asks, looking up to him.

"Yeah. Loads of times. Don't worry about the instructions." He taps his temple. "I've got a memory like a steel trap."

It's bullshit, but it's not like putting together the tent is that hard. Nate buys it either way, so whatever.

As their dad makes a pile of spears out of pine branches and goes all crazy nature guy on the fish in the river, Will and Nate put together the tent.

It doesn't go as planned, which is both good and bad - Nate laments even more about the need for guidance, but it forces him to think outside the box a little. With Will's help, they start to figure it out. And if they screw up more than once, so what? It's not like the tarp gets ruined and they sort out the shelter together.

By the time it kind of looks like a tent, their dad has four good-sized salmon slit from gill to tail and he's already working on building a fire from scratch. Why, exactly, he doesn't just use a damned lighter, Will isn't sure. It's been a long time since the island, it's not like muscle memory lasts twenty-plus years. Maybe he's trying to impress them, show off his survival skills. It _is_ impressive, though, making an actual campfire out of two rocks and a pile of tinder. But it's the kind of thing Will notices and remembers, not Nate.

"Wouldn't that be easier with matches or something?" Nate asks, ever a fan of efficiency.

"Sure," their dad says, backing away from the firepit as the flame grows from a small spark. "But easy isn't always best. We didn't need matches."

Nate shrugs. "If you say so." He sighs, barely sparing the fire a cursory stare before looking around. "What do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" Oliver asks.

"I mean… we have a fire and food and a tent. It's not dark. Now what do we do?" Nate asks, looking around like surely there's a 'to do' list somewhere near by.

"We camp," their dad replies. "We… play ball or cook the fish or explore nearby."

"Okay…" Nate nods. "Why?"

Will yet again has to fight a laugh as he tugs the elementary schooler in for a hug.

"For fun!" Oliver tells him.

"It's fun?" Nate asks, looking up to Will for confirmation.

"It can be," Will agrees. "You hungry, kiddo? I think we should start with cooking the fish. We don't want bears to run off with it."

Nate stiffens with a sharp inhale. "There are _bears_?"

Probably not the best thing to joke about. Will's eyebrows go up as he looks at his dad with an 'oops' expression. Oliver's unperturbed though.

"Do you honestly think I couldn't protect you from wildlife?" their dad asks, raising an eyebrow.

Yeah, that's true. There's probably nothing on the entire planet their dad couldn't protect them from. Surely nothing he wouldn't _try_ to protect them from. If nothing else, Nate obviously knows that because he relaxes instantly.

"Yeah… I just… Bears, you know?"

"Bears aren't so bad," Oliver tells him. "It's wolves you'd have to worry about." Nate's eyes go wide at that, but their dad's cool, collected exterior seems to calm him as he nonchalantly continues on, "But your brother's right. We should cook while it's fresh. You wanna clean them, Will? Can you do that with the splint?"

"Sure," Will agrees. "It's not a problem."

It'll be a pain in the ass, but he can manage. His thumb isn't even the part that worries him about the task; it's the smell. He'll probably gag cleaning the fish, but he can deal. He takes the pocketknife from his dad - he couldn't have brought an actual knife? - as they trade spots.

Oliver joins Nate in the tent where they sit down to flip through Nate's notebook, looking over the leaves he's collected while Will guts the fish and ditches the innards into a small ditch he'd dug near the fire.

It's disgusting. He's not a squeamish guy, but the smell never fails to make his stomach twist and he still has to hold his breath while he works. He tries to imagine Nate doing this… ever. He can't. It's just not him. Instead, the eight-year-old sits on the floor of the tent with his dad at his side, trying to journal what kinds of leaves he found on the hike here. For his part, Oliver looks a bit lost, like he can't contribute a whole lot to this endeavor. Will suspects his dad knows exactly which leaves are edible and which ones might be poisonous, but that's probably the extent of his knowledge.

That seems to be okay with Nate, though, because he's more intent on chattering quietly while he does rubbings of the leaves with crayons as his dad watches his work attentively, pointing things out or making suggestions. It's funny, watching the two of them. There's such a strong likeness between them. Will's never felt like he looks a whole lot like either of his parents. His eyes are his dad's for sure, but he looks more like a great uncle on his mom's side than anyone else on his family tree. But Nate… Nate looks like a softer, younger version of their father.

Finishing with the fish and wiping his hands on a sweatshirt he's definitely not going to use later, Will heads over to his dad and brother. "Did you bring a pan or are we roasting those things on sticks?"

His dad laughs, the lines around eyes crinkling up. "There's tin foil in the bag," he says. "Along with seasoning and some ranch dressing for Nate."

"Thank _goodness_ ," Nate says with a relieved sigh. This kid takes 'picky eater' to a whole new level, and God forbid anything on his plate touches another kind of food.

But his dad knew that, had planned for it. "Come on, bud," Oliver says, patting Nate on the knee before standing. "You hungry, yet?"

"Sure," Nate replies with a little shrug, setting his journal to the side. "I'm _always_ hungry."

It's true. Picky eater or not, Nate is a bottomless pit.

"How about you roast up the potatoes while I get the fish ready."

As Nate follows Oliver back to the fire, Will heads over to the river to rinse his hands while thy work. The water's warmer than he'd expected. Even in July, it's all still from mountain snowpack runoff. But it's warm enough that he thinks he might see if Nate wants to go for a swim later. The kid's a fish.

He takes his time cleaning up, losing his shirt in the process because he smells like fish guts and that's just nasty. By the time he makes his way back to the firepit, the smell of dinner fills the air and… they're not alone.

Three girls right about his age set up a tent on the other side of the pit. He's more than a little glad he'd ditched his shirt because they all eye him with enough blatant interest that his dad is shaking his head at the dirt and trying not to laugh.

"What?" Nate asks, totally oblivious to absolutely everything going on.

"Hey," Will says, nodding toward the girls with a flirty smirk that he's well aware hits home more often than not.

Okay, so maybe he'd inherited more than just his eyes from his dad.

"Hey," one of the girls nods back. She's a toned brunette with absurdly short shorts and legs that go on forever. Will's not really looking for anything right now, not anything that'd go anywhere at any rate, but _damn_ if he isn't more than happy for the view. And she seems more than happy to give it to him.

"Should we tell them they need to find a tree, Dad?" Nate asks in a hushed voice.

And… _what_?

Their dad's brow knits in confusion as he looks towards his younger son. "What are you talking about, Nate?"

"Well… those girls are all squirmy," Nate explains. "Do we need to tell them there isn't a potty around?"

Will laughs, choking out a quiet, "Oh my god," as he buries his face in the crook of his elbow, trying to mask his reaction from his brother and inevitably making it worse. He's laughing too hard to hear his dad's fumbling attempt at a response.

That's okay, though, because when he pulls his arm away from his face, two of the girls are still looking at him. And the brunette is tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth in a way that's _sort of_ killing him.

"You know what?" he says, turning back to his father. "I'm gonna go see if they need some help."

His father shakes his head a little in disbelief. "Will…"

"What?" he asks with a shrug. "It's neighborly, right? I feel like they've got a problem I can help fix."

He knows he's got a hell of a shit-eating grin on his face, but he's not even sorry because his ego is _soaring_ at the moment. Those girls are _still_ looking at him with the most obvious interest he's seen outside of his baseball uniform.

"He's being nice, Dad," Nate chimes in. "Maybe we should help, too."

"Pretty sure they don't want our help, kiddo," Oliver tells Nate, who doesn't follow that at all.

"Why?" the eight-year-old asks.

"Well," Will says, slapping his palms against his thighs. "I'll let you handle _that_ question, Dad. Be back in a few."

This is a win-win-win, in his book. The girls get some help, his dad and brother get some one-on-one time, and he gets to flirt with the hottest brunette he's ever seen.

And, _man,_ is he itching for that.

"Hi," the brunette says to him. The blonde who'd been staring along with her grabs the back of the shirt the girl actually working on the tent is wearing to grab her attention.

 _Damn_ , but all three of them are cute.

If it were ten years later, if he were a little more mature, he might have honed in on the girl working on the tent. He might have found out she has a sharp sense of humor and a shared love of baseball. He might have discovered that she can sing and that she shares a fear of kangaroos with his stepmom. Things might have gone very differently. His whole life might have taken a completely different turn.

But he's 22 and too distracted by long bare legs and bright green eyes to see that something real is standing five feet away from him.

"Hey," he says to the brunette with a nod. "I thought you guys might like a hand."

"Pretty sure Maggie would love a hand," the blonde who'd been staring at him says. The brunette flushes and hip-checks her.

"Maggie?" he asks, stepping closer, giving her the broadest grin he can. "I'm Will."

He extends his hand and she delicately puts her fingers in his for what has to be the softest handshake in history. The girl working on the tent huffs in annoyance, blowing curly dark hair that's fallen out of its ponytail away from her face. Will's focused entirely on Maggie, though, and the body language that utterly screams attraction. She's ever-so-slightly too close to be a respectable distance away, her hips angled toward him as she chews on her lip, letting her eyes skim down his chest.

William loves camping, he decides immediately. Camping is _the best_.

As it turns out, their tent is far more complex than his, but that's fine because he can figure it out. It helps that Maggie keeps finding excuses to touch him, to stand a _bit_ too close. More than once he lets his hand find the small of her back, or he touches her arm, letting his hand linger. She's suitably sympathetic when he tells her how he wound up with the splint on his thumb and her friends both kind of fade into the background as she tells him about their epic road trip from National City to Monument Point before starting their senior years.

"That sounds awesome," he tells her as they get the last piece of the tent put in place. One of his hands somehow winds up on her waist as her fingers settle against his upper arm, those big green eyes sparking with heat as-yet unexplored. "Maybe you could tell me more about in a bit. Like after dinner."

"Sure," she says. "We could go for a swim or something."

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," he tells her.

"That's okay," she replies with a little grin. "Neither did I."

His brain short-circuits at that, and it's entirely because his blood flow is rushing elsewhere.

Will vaguely hears a throat clear somewhere behind him, but he doesn't really register his father's presence until a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. He jumps - something that will undoubtedly get him a talking to about being more aware of his surroundings because his dad is _ridiculous_ about safety - and looks back to see a tight smile on his father's face.

"Sorry," Oliver says, offering a plastic smile to Maggie before looking back to Will. "Dinner's ready."

Right. Dinner.

"I'll, uh… see you in a bit then," he tells Maggie, winking at her as she grins back.

His father's fingers tighten on his shoulder and Will gets the message. Yeah, he's here to spend time with his dad and his little brother, not pick up girls, but _come on_. Maggie is super hot and there's a zero percent chance his father wouldn't have done the same thing at his age. Hell, he probably would've been worse. But Will's better than that. He's always been committed to being better than that, even since he was old enough to use Google and found out way more about his father's wilder years than he'd ever wanted to know.

They both turn to head back to Nate, but a voice stops them.

"You look really familiar."

It's the girl who'd been focused on the tent and she's not talking to Will. She's staring at his dad with a puzzled look, like she can't quite place him. But - as so often happens - Will sees the moment recognition dawns when her eyes go wide and her mouth opens a little.

"You're Representative Queen," she says, pointing a finger his way. "You're running for Senate, right?"

"Uh… yes," his dad admits, instantly shifting into his campaign smile. "I am."

" _Oh my gosh_ ," the girl says with a little too much breathless excitement. Will's seen this a hundred times. It'd be great if girls his age could please stop getting giggly around his 45-year-old father. But, things take a sharp turn when the dark-haired girl speaks again. "You're Mayor Moira Queen's son? She's, like, _my idol_. The work she's done to incentivize business growth in the core downtown areas of Starling City is just groundbreaking. I'm going to do my thesis on her. Is she here, too? Do you think I could meet her?"

This is so not what Will had expected. Judging from the way his father blinks, he's pretty sure his dad hadn't either. But once the shock wears off, Will attempts to picture his grandmother _camping_ and that is just not an image that will compute. At all. Ever.

The funny thing, though, is how his father's face shifts as the situation unfolds. He goes from pleasant but detached to guarded to thoroughly amused in a matter of seconds. Will has to wonder if this is the first time he's run into an honest-to-goodness fan of his mother.

"She's not here," Oliver tells the girl. "Camping isn't really her thing. But it sounds like talking with her might help your thesis. I could probably set up a meeting with her, if you'd like. Why don't you give me your e-mail address and I'll have her scheduler contact you."

Will's not sure he's ever seen anyone quite so excited about meeting his grandmother before - he certainly never has been - but it's oddly endearing. It makes him smile. She looks like someone could knock her over with a feather, she's so giddy.

"I need a pen," she declares, grabbing Maggie's arm. "Tell me you have a pen?"

Oliver laughs. "I can text it to him."

"Whoa, hey, what happened to your 'no technology' rule?" Will challenges.

"The phone is in case of emergency or senior theses," his dad counters. "I'm not going to be totally out of touch with your stepmom. Just don't tell your brother or he'll want to take it and download Tetris."

Fair enough, Will figures. It's not like their family has 'normal people' level emergencies. If someone called it would probably mean there was a sudden gang war going on in the city or assassins were attacking.

"But our fish is getting cold," Oliver continues. "So, I'll get that from you later, okay?" The girl nods, breathing something out that's not quite intelligible. His dad pauses and tilts his head back toward the fire as he looks to his son. "Will?"

"Yeah," Will agrees, giving one last look toward Maggie before heading with his dad back to where Nate sits with their fish and potatoes on the other side of the fire, leaving the girls behind.

"That's trouble," his dad tells him as either Maggie or her friend squeal behind them just out of normal earshot. "You do know that, right?"

"It's harmless fun," Will says. "She's crazy hot and just passing through town. Seems like a good kind of trouble to me."

The huff his father lets out is one of annoyance and, honestly, Will isn't sure he has a leg to stand on here. He hadn't exactly been a paragon of virtue himself during his college years.

Oliver pauses his stride, giving his son a weighty look. "Aren't you seeing someone?"

 _Oh_. That's what this is about. His distaste for the situation makes a little more sense now. His dad's always been more than a little ashamed of his college-age indiscretions, Will knows that. It's endeared his father to him a hell of a lot more, actually. He's a good guy. He'd just had a rocky decade or so in there.

And it's the exact opposite of what is happening right now.

"Uh, no," Will says, digging the toe of his shoe into the dirt. "Allison and I broke up a couple months ago."

"Months?" his father asks. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's not a big deal," he counters with a sigh that probably says that's only partly true. "We weren't that serious."

"You brought her to your sister's birthday party," his dad reminds him. "That seems pretty serious to me."

Will sighs again. He'd been with Allison for almost a year and for a while he'd definitely seen it going places, but it hadn't panned out that way. He's not sure he wants to remind himself of that quite so thoroughly right at this moment.

"We just wanted different things," Will says, staring at the small hole in the dirt he's dug with his foot. "She's going off to grad school in Gotham in the fall and we could've done the long distance thing but…"

He swallows, his voice trailing off because he _does_ want to talk about this with his dad, but he's not sure he wants to do it now, like this.

"But what?" his father prods.

"Can we talk about it tonight?" Will asks. "After dinner maybe? It's just… it's more involved than Allison and our food is getting cold." The worry on his dad's face quadruples at that and Will knows he's coming to all kinds of incorrect conclusions. "It's fine, dad. It's not bad. I promise."

It has a placating effect, but not nearly enough and Will knows telling him what's on his mind is the only thing that will. But he doesn't push, which is one of his favorite things about his father.

"Okay," Oliver says with a nod. "Yeah, you've got it, bud."

Nate doesn't pick up on what's going on when they reach his side a moment later. The kid's already dished out all of their food and has very, very carefully ensured that the potatoes are not touching the fish on any of their plates.

The chatter that follows is pleasant enough. Nate rambles on about his leaf collection and the summer workbook for school that he's somehow already almost done with. Will chimes in with updates on his team's chances at making the finals. Their dad tries to veer away from campaign talk, focusing instead on plans for a family trip sometime around the holidays.

It's nice. Easy.

Until a bug crawls up Nate's knee and he shrieks.

"Get it off! Get it off!" the eight-year-old shouts, jumping up and shaking his leg.

"Hold still," Oliver chuckles, stilling Nate's leg with his hand and picking the large beetle off of his jeans. "It's harmless, kiddo."

"I _hate_ bugs," Nate says, shuddering and rubbing his arms with his hands. "I wish they'd go away."

"We're outdoors," his father points out. "They live here."

Nate pulls a face at that because the logic is irrefutable, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. With a shudder, he stares at his half-eaten fish, but he can't seem to make himself sit down again. "I'm done eating, Dad. Can I go back in the tent and make more notes about my leaves?"

Oliver smiles, but Will can see it's a bit sad, even if Nate can't. They'd gone on this little trip together for a reason and he'd have much preferred to interact with his youngest than for him to lock himself away in the tent. The great outdoors have never been Nate's thing. The beach would have been better. Maybe he'll suggest that to his dad for next time.

"Sure," Oliver agrees. "Have fun."

Nate hesitates. "Just for a bit," he hedges, clearly seeing more than Will had given him credit for. "Let me know when it's time for s'mores, okay?"

"You've got it," Oliver agrees. This time his smile reaches his eyes, and that's apparently good enough for Nate because he heads to the tent and zippers himself inside with little more than a nod at his dad.

Still, as soon as Nate's tucked away in the tent his dad rubs at his brow with a beleaguered sigh.

There's no sound but that and the crackle of the fire for a moment. Through the flames that lick up into the fast-darkening sky, Will can see Maggie and her friends. The look she gives him is a clear invitation to join as they head off down toward the river, but he just shakes his head at her in reply. No matter how attractive her legs are, he's not going to leave his dad right now.

Plus, there's always later.

"We got lucky," Will muses, popping a bite of potato into his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. His words do the trick, pulling in his father's attention. "From day _one_ we were totally in sync. I know it pissed off my mom, but you gave me the most meaningful present and promise I'd ever gotten, and like _that_ I didn't just know you were my dad, I felt it, too."

Oliver's lips tick up slightly as he watches his son.

"It's different with Nate," Will admits. "Completely different. But the idea is the same. We didn't have to try to find common ground. It was there from the start. Nate already loves you, already knows you love him, but he isn't gonna fall in love with camping any more than you're going to suddenly decide you want to write a book about botany. This is never gonna be his ball and glove, Dad."

A flash of vulnerability skates over his father's face and it occurs to Will that this is a newer facet of their relationship, that it's steadily grown these last few years. He's sure part of it is because he's been around his dad a whole lot more since his mom got married, but he thinks it's more because he's grown up. As a boy, his father had seemed like he was larger than life, a superhero with or without the mask. As a man, his dad is a whole lot more human. As much as he's loved his father since the moment he met him, he finds he much prefers the human version. The _real_ version.

"He's growing up so fast," Oliver admits, shoulders drooping, his face pained. "You and Ellie were so easy to connect with. Jules took a lot more effort, but at least it was a clear path. Once I figured out what was wrong, I knew what I had to fix, how I needed to approach our relationship. And that worked, eventually. We're so much closer now and she's so much happier. I think she's happier, anyhow-"

"She is," Will interrupts. He probably knows Jules better than anyone and his father knows that. Will has been her sounding board, her confidante, her protective big brother and her best friend for pretty much her whole life. And even at her most closed off, she's never been closed off with him and he has never once failed to be there for her. Whether that meant ditching class to pick her up from school after a fight with her friend or going to all her dance recitals, he's been there. She's his sister, he'll always be there. He doesn't just love Jules, he likes her, too. And she's always been in his corner just as he's been in hers.

"Good," Oliver breathes out in relief. "That's good. But with Nate…" He lets his voice trail off with a shake of his head.

"With Nate nothing's wrong," Will finishes for him. "He's not insecure or closed off. He's not unhappy. He loves you like crazy. You're just very different people and it's hard to find things you have in common."

"I played chess with him last week," Oliver says, shaking his head. "He kicked my ass. He goes through every possible choice before making a move. I was never good with being patient. I was bored and I know he could see that."

"You're trying, Dad," Will points out. "Maybe that's enough."

"Maybe. For now." His father's face shutters some at that. "We're okay. I just wish we were better." He takes a deep breath. "But enough about me and Nate. What's going on with you?"

Will swallows hard at the subject change. He leans back, hands resting behind him in the dirt. It's not an easy thing to answer. There's kind of a lot going on with him right now and he's not even sure where to start.

"This about baseball?" Oliver asks. "I know you're disappointed, but you might be better before the end of the season."

Will glances back at the splint on his thumb. They're putting a cast on once he gets back from camping. They'd _wanted_ to do it today as soon as they'd gotten the x-ray back, but Will had waved them off, much to his coach's annoyance. A day won't hurt anything and it's not like he's got a shot of getting back in the game this season, no matter what his dad says.

"I'm done," Will says, sighing hard. "Even if I'm good enough to play in a month, I won't be good enough to play at that level. My college career is over and I know it. I'll finish up my classes in the fall and then… that's it. It's not like I was ever gonna go pro."

"You okay with that?" his dad asks, matching his posture, leaning back.

"Guess I've gotta be, don't I?" Will asks.

"Baseball's been a part of your life for a long time," his father notes.

"Since the day I met you," Will agrees. The two are, in some ways, so very interwoven in his mind. It's always been about so much than just sports to him.

"It's gonna be hard to leave behind," Oliver says. Will nods, staring into the fire before them with blank eyes. "Is that why you weren't at the game today?"

That snaps him right out of the daze he's been looking into the flame with and right into looking at his dad's too-knowing eyes. It hadn't even _occurred_ to him. But now that his father said it… yeah. Maybe.

"My team deserves my support," Will answers. "I just… I'd been looking forward to kicking Coast City's ass all month, especially after what they did to us last year. I wanted to be here with you and Nate, but I'm also not sure I could've sat on that bench and watched Pete hang curveballs every other throw. I'll be there next game."

"Good," his dad tells him. "You're part of the team even if you aren't playing. I get sitting this one out, but they do need you, even if it's just on the bench."

"Yeah," Will says with a grimace. "I know."

A moment of quiet after stretches out between them. The sun has set and Will can hear the girls down by the river. Their soft chatter echoes the crackle of the fire, the hoot of an owl and the quiet songs of crickets. For a beat, he lets himself focus on that. He takes in the scene, living in the moment…

But his dad is watching him expectantly and he knows their conversation isn't over yet.

"That wasn't what you wanted to talk about, though, was it?" Oliver asks, breaking the stillness.

"No," Will admits. "It wasn't."

"Was it about Allison?" his dad ventures.

Will shifts to lean his elbows on his knees as he sighs heavily. "Not exactly."

He really doesn't want to think about Allison. He _wants_ to think about Maggie down at the river without a bathing suit. But even after breaking up two months ago, it still hurts. Not like it did at first, of course, and he knows now that it was inevitable, but that doesn't make it any easier. And, really, what he'd wanted to talk to his dad about really hadn't been the break up. At least, not entirely.

"It is kind of related, though," he admits. His dad says nothing in response, clearly waiting for him to take the lead. After pausing to lick his lips, Will does just that. "It's more about school."

"About school?" his father asks in surprise. That's warranted. He's all of one term away from finishing, his grades are good and he'd had a full ride thanks to baseball. "Buddy, if they're taking away your scholarship because of the injury you know that we'll cover-"

"No," Will interrupts, shaking his head. "That's not it. I mean, thank you. But Coach hasn't said anything like that. It's more about what I'm gonna do _after_ school."

"I thought you wanted to be an athletic trainer?" his dad asks. His face is every bit as confused as his voice and Will finds himself swallowing again before he answers.

"I did," he replies. "At least, I thought I did. Coach had kinda talked it up, but… I think maybe that's not the right fit for me after all."

His father blinks back at him before turning to face him more fully. "Okay, well, did you have something else in mind? Were you thinking of grad school? A bachelor's in sports medicine doesn't really open up the door to a whole lot of other career options."

Will swallows, nodding. "I know that." He swallows again, rubbing his palms against his thighs because they're itchy. He's nervous. For the first time in _forever_ he's nervous talking to his father and it's dumb because his dad won't even object to his plans. He thinks. Probably. Hopefully. "And I do know what I want to do, actually."

Oliver nods for him to continue.

"Right," Will mumbles before clearing his throat. "I've been thinking about this a lot. Since Christmas, at least, and I've done lots of research and I know it's going to mean more training before I'm actually working, but I think this is actually a really good fit for me."

"Will," his dad says. "What is?"

"I want to be a firefighter."

He basically holds his breath as soon as the words tumble out of his mouth. This is something he wants - something he _really_ wants - and the only two people he's told so far have been everything but supportive. But his dad… his dad is different and even though his heart is pounding a mile a minute and his palms are suddenly slick with sweat, he knows that this conversation will not be like the last two.

"A firefighter?" his dad repeats. He's surprised - Will can only imagine what he'd been thinking he was going to say - but there's also no judgement.

Will lets out the breath that'd been trapped in his lungs. "Yeah," he confirms. "Yes. That's what I want to do."

"You've never said anything about that before," Oliver says.

Will nods. "I know. I hadn't really considered it before, but I feel like I could do a lot of good, help people and be part of a team, you know? It just… it seems so much more meaningful than a whole career around sports. I love it, but I don't know if I love it that much."

His dad doesn't respond right away, save for an awed smile that graces his face. Will isn't exactly sure what he said that got to his dad, but the sense of relief it brings is staggering.

"You want to do something meaningful and help people and be part of a team?" Oliver asks.

It's an echo of his own voice and it takes Will all of a second to connect those dots, to interpret the tenor of his father's voice. _Pride_. It's pride he's hearing and Will thinks he could actually cry at the sound of it, especially after his mom's reaction, after Allison's.

"Yeah," Will replies.

"I think that's amazing," his father says, nodding at him with newfound respect that resonates in Will. "I think I couldn't be prouder of you if I tried."

Will ducks his head at that, smiling down at his feet as his father wraps an arm around his shoulders. Oliver pulls him closer, kissing the top of his head like he's a kid. He doesn't mind it in the least.

"Allison didn't think much of the idea," Will confides in his dad. "She thought it was a waste of my degree, said I should get my masters and do physical therapy or try to get into med school."

"It's your life," his father says. He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head at himself like he can't believe what he's about to say. "It's your life and it's your choice, kiddo. Don't let anyone take that away from you."

"Not even Mom?" Will asks, looking up at his father.

Oliver winces. "You told your mom?"

"Yeah," Will says. "And she wasn't what you'd call happy. Or tolerant."

The drawn out sigh that comes from his father's lips is one that Will had long ago realized is something he only ever does when talking about his mom. His 'Samantha Sigh,' Will privately calls it. They've never once fought in front of him or even hinted at it, but that sigh alone is proof that they don't always see eye-to-eye.

"She worries about you," his father finally says. "She loves you and I'm sure she'd rather see you doing something with lower risk."

"Lower reward, too, then," Will answers without thinking.

His father's smile is immediate and genuine. "Good point," Oliver says. "Don't worry about your mom. I'll talk to her."

"You sure you want to get in the middle of this?" Will asks, raising an eyebrow at his dad.

"You're my son," Oliver tells him. "I'll go to bat for you anytime."

Will groans, ducking out from under his father's arm. "Baseball dad humor? Really?"

"Felt like a home run to me," his father says, completely failing to fight his self-satisfied grin.

"That's horrible!" Will informs him. "Why are dad jokes the worst? Why are they always puns?"

"Just the way it works," Oliver replies, still smiling, looking a little too happy with himself if you ask Will. "The instant you become a dad, the puns start. Maybe someday you'll learn that." He stops, looks toward the river with a wry twist of his lips. "Just not too soon, please."

Will rolls his eyes. "I'm not gonna sleep with her."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do," his father says. "You're an adult. Although… tonight I am proud of your choices. I am most nights."

"Probably not that night I crashed your car into the fountain in front of QI at, like, three in the morning, though, right?" he asks.

"Yeah. Not so much that night," his father agrees. It's been six years, but that's probably still not something he should joke about if the look on his dad's face is any indication. He knows how much he scared his parents that night, not to mention how much he'd scared Jules that night.

"Sorry," he says.

"It's fine," his father tells him. "I love you and I'm proud of you and you're going to be an excellent firefighter. And… I hadn't brought this up with you yet, but out of college or not, you're welcome to stay with us as long as you need. It's still your house, Will. Getting a degree doesn't change that."

Will thinks his smile must grow about ten-fold at that. He'd really been hoping his dad would say something along those lines. "Thanks," he says. "I'll take you up on that."

"Good," his father replies. "Now… I'm gonna go check on Nate. Did you want to come with me?"

"Actually," Will says, looking back toward the river. The girls must have flashlights or something because there's a dull glow lighting up the night coming from that direction. "I was thinking I might go hang out with Maggie. It's been a while."

That's not a lie. He could use the flirting practice, too, not that he's going to tell his dad that.

"Have a good time," his father says before heading back toward the tent, letting Will go on his way.

As it turns out, Maggie is _excellent_ flirting practice and she's not so bad at making out either, but it doesn't go anywhere further than that. Still, he enjoys himself. A lot. It's been too long since he had a girl in his arms and her lips pressed against his. He hadn't even realized how much he missed it. And _yes_ , she's not Allison and part of him still misses his ex-girlfriend, but she's a beautiful, stark reminder that the world is a whole lot larger than he's experienced and there are so many more people he has yet to meet. So, Maggie is fun and nice and sexy and he's happily a bit breathless by the time he leaves the river and heads back toward the tent.

He expects Nate to be passed out by the time he gets there, but he's pleasantly surprised that his little brother is holding out against sleep because what he stumbles upon is about a hundred times better.

A few feet away from the fire, where an open package of graham crackers and a giant bag of marshmallows sit half eaten, his dad has rolled out one of the sleeping mats. His father is lying down on it with Nate curled up at his side as they look up at the stars.

"... is Ursa Major," his father says in a low voice, head dipped toward Nate as he talks.

"I thought that was the Big Dipper?" Nate asks, eyes wide with awe.

"No, Ursa Minor is part of the Big Dipper," Oliver informs him. "That's easy to get confused. But Ursa _Major_ is the biggest constellation in the whole sky. You can see it all year round."

"Could you see it on the island, Daddy?" Nate asks. He's curled up close to his father with such attentiveness on his face that Will decides immediately he's not going to interrupt them. This is too special a moment for that.

"I could," he hears his father agree. "And I knew my family back home could see it. Sometimes I'd just lie there at night and wonder if your Aunt Thea was looking up, too."

"Like that movie? The one with the mouse?" Nate asks. He's so invested all of a sudden. So excited. "With that song?"

"Just like that." Oliver smiles down at his youngest. Will is pretty sure they don't even register him as he makes his way into their nearby tent. "I loved that movie when I was around your age, you know."

"I know," Nate replies in his little voice.

It's very quiet for a long moment after that. Will takes a moment to change out of the soaking wet boxers he'd worn into the river before climbing into a sleeping bag. But there's not another sound save for the pops of the dying fire and the rustling of the fabric as he climbs in, not until he's zippered himself inside.

"Dad?" Nate asks quietly.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I like that movie, too," he says.

"Maybe we should watch it next weekend," his father offers.

"Yeah," Nate says, a note of excitement ringing in his voice. "That's a good idea. Can I tell you something, Daddy?"

"You can tell me anything, Nate," his father answers.

"I don't really like camping," he admits. He sounds so sad about it.

"I know, kiddo," his father tells him. "We'll find something else to do together, okay?"

"Okay," Nate agrees. "But Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I do like this," he says. "This is nice."

"Yeah," his father agrees. "It is."

Will drifts off to sleep not long after that and when he wakes up in the morning, he's not at all surprised to find his father and little brother still fast asleep on the mat outside the tent, Nate's small form curled into his father's protective embrace.


	13. July 2030 - Part Two

**July 2030**

If you'd asked Amelia three months ago what she was doing this summer, you'd have gotten a very different answer than what had actually panned out. Namely? Summer school. That'd been the plan because the sooner she can get out of the classroom and into City Hall, the better. But, then Celeste had gone and had herself a quarter-life crisis in the form of walking in on her jerkwad boyfriend screwing his 'just a friend, I swear' study buddy and suddenly Amelia found herself committing to a summer-long road trip instead.

Everything in Amelia's life boils down to a series of plans, but some things are more important than others and she's learned to be flexible when it's needed. And it is needed this time. Amelia takes her friendships seriously. Celeste and Maggie had both been there for her when her dad had an unexpected heart attack during her freshman year - the first of so many plans waylaid by life - and she will forever be there for both of them.

Maggie and Celeste had just been her dorm mates back then. She'd barely known them when they'd found her shaking and crying, unable to put her phone down. Celeste had wrapped an arm around her and held her close while Maggie made her hot cocoa and called an airline to book her a flight home. She hadn't even known their names. They'd just been 'those girls who live next to the common room,' but that'd dramatically changed one late afternoon in mid-March when her dad's heart stopped.

Because of Celeste and Maggie, she'd gotten home in time to see her dad before he died. Because of Celeste and Maggie, she'd had clear study notes from all the classes she missed and passed all of them. Because of Celeste and Maggie, she'd made it through the hardest time in her life with a constant shoulder to lean on and an ever-present ear to listen when she needed it.

Amelia knows the value of that. She knows you don't find those kinds of friends every day. There is nothing she wouldn't do for Celeste and Maggie, who have proven themselves equally loyal.

So, dropping her plans for summer school and pushing graduation back by a semester in favor of a cross-country road trip had been an easy choice, even if it had meant reworking her career timeline a bit.

And it's been fun… for the most part. There's been a lot more camping than she'd anticipated, although it's by far the cheapest option. She's starting to enjoy it, even though she does miss having a real shower at her leisure.

"Laundromat tomorrow?" Celeste asks, dust from the path they're on kicking up with every step. Maggie and Amelia both immediately nod. "I'm not sure I can re-wear these jeans another day."

"Shorts," Maggie answers, like that solves everything. Admittedly, they're a whole lot easier to hand wash in a river and hang out to dry than her and Celeste's jeans. "I tried to tell you guys."

That's true, but Maggie's legs are also in a category all their own. She's a competitive swimmer and her toned muscles reflect every bit of that dedication. Amelia, on the other hand, has spent the last few months favoring the library over the gym and all the hiking they've done on this trip has just barely started to make up for it. Sometimes she misses softball. It got in the way of her studies, but man, it'd kept her in shape. The only thing her butt has to show from all the extra studying is a weird flat edge from the rigid desk chairs the library refuses to replace.

"Maybe we splurge and hit a Wal-mart in the next town for some shorts?" Celeste suggests, casting Amelia a glance. She wants consensus on this. She has on most things since the breakup. It kills Amelia to see her once-confident friend reduced to someone who wants approval on something as simple as buying shorts.

Amelia gives her a definitive nod, looping her arm through Celeste's as they walk. "We'll have to pick up razors, too, then," she says with a little shrug. Shaving in rivers and streams sucks the big one, but if it means spending less money and time on laundromats, then it's worth it.

"Or invest in Nair," Celeste says, wrinkling her nose. Amelia nearly gags over the notion. That's a smell you won't soon forget and the memory of their entire dorm floor stinking for days after a bottle broke still stings her nose months later. She shuts her eyes and buries her face in Celeste's shoulder as she laughs, shaking her head in a firm 'no.'

It's because of this that she totally misses the moment they hit the end of the path and spill out onto the campsite.

"Ho-ly shit!"

Maggie's voice prompts Amelia to look up. She has absolutely no idea what she'd been expecting to see, but a blindingly hot shirtless guy in low-slung jeans is absolutely not it. Amelia's eyes widen, her jaw dropping as she practically drags Celeste to a dead stop.

He's… he's wow. Had they walked into some kind of photo shoot? Are they actually this lucky? He hasn't spotted them yet and the backpack Amelia's been carrying slides off her shoulder and lands with a heavy thump on the ground as she watches the guy. He's running wet hands through his hair and he's sweaty, light actually reflecting off of his pleasantly defined abs.

She can't find her voice, but she can - apparently - whimper somewhat pathetically as she watches his stomach muscles ripple. They actually ripple and the solid shot want that rips through her leaves her knees feeling weak.

Isn't that supposed to be a movie thing? That's not supposed to actually happen. But then he drags his hands down his chest, leaving wet smears of water and yep, it's definitely a thing that actually happens.

Oh dear God, she's been entirely too absorbed in school for way too long. The desire making her limbs tingle is so foreign at this point it's pathetic. When was the last time she even went on a date? Last fall? That chemistry major with the sweaty palms? God, that was forever ago. She needs a date. She needs to get laid. She honestly hadn't realized how much she'd missed boys, missed sex, until this very moment, and now her whole body is buzzing and it's making the world a hot, fuzzy mess.

"Dibs!" Maggie declares. It's the only thing that could possibly jar Amelia's attention. Her lips are about to form the word 'But...' before she stops herself. She wants to fight her on this so much, but this is Maggie and Maggie is flushed and smiling as she bounces on her toes. Amelia would do anything for Maggie. Even though that is so very true, her heart still sinks as the other girl spins back to face her and Celeste. "Please? Please, please? He's like a fully formed daydream just walked out of my head into our campsite and it's been months since I had a date."

"What happened to our 'All boys suck!' rallying cry?" Celeste asks, crossing her arms. She's been holding her ex's actions against every boy in the world since it happened.

"Honey… we said that for your benefit," Amelia tells her. "You know that right?"

"He can totally suck on anything of mine he wants to," Maggie chimes in. "I'm not gonna marry the guy, just mess around with him. Boys are good for some things, after all."

Celeste sighs, because even she isn't going to deny that. Amelia's heard more than enough complaints about stupid boys and their stupid cocks and precisely how much Celeste hates that she misses their stupid cocks to be aware of that. "He is really stupidly hot," she acknowledges.

"Right?" Maggie asks.

All three of them just kind of stare at him for a moment.

"Fine," Amelia relents, hating the word even as she says it. "But only because dibs is sacred. And also, I hate you."

"You love me," Maggie replies with a grin that Amelia is well aware will win the mystery hot guy over in a heartbeat. Maggie is bold, effervescent and stupidly pretty. Her lack of a love life has absolutely nothing to do with a lack of interest from boys. "And you are the best friend in the whole world and I love you right back."

"Yeah, yeah…" Amelia rolls her eyes, but the animus in her tone is all for show. No boy, no matter how hot, is ever going to come between them and Amelia knows it. So do Maggie and Celeste.

But, bowing out or not, there's no agreement that she can't look. Even Celeste is looking, letting out a little sigh as the guy stretches his neck to the side. Stupid hot boys and their stupidly attractive bodies. Amelia's gone from wildly turned on and hopeful to intensely frustrated and more than a little irked in the span of minutes.

"Come on," Amelia orders. "Help me with the tent before you go all Bond girl on this guy."

Maggie laughs as both she and Celeste move to help her unpack the tent.

None of them are exactly focused on the task at hand, though, all three distracted by the boy nearby. Which is, of course, when he notices them. Even from the other side of the campfire she can see how intensely blue his eyes are as his gaze skirts over them. He's not exactly subtle about his interest, either.

And, damn it, his smirk should be illegal.

There's an older man nearby - his father, probably - who's shaking his head, chuckling, and a little boy who just looks confused.

"Hey," Hot Guy says, tilting his chin up at them in greeting. His voice isn't particularly deep but it's warm and a little gritty and it slides down Amelia's spine like honey. Oh, that's nice, and goddamn it, she really hates that dibs is so sacrosanct.

"Hey," Maggie answers. She licks her lips, hooking her thumbs in her belt loops, rocking onto the balls of her feet as she blatantly looks him over. Yeah, there's no question whatsoever about Maggie's interest or that she's totally gained the whole of Hot Guy's focus. Which sucks. Because, yeah it's not like he'd been going to look past Maggie to see her, but a part of her had quietly held out hope anyhow.

The kid near him says something too quiet to hear, but Hot Guy's eyes suddenly go wide and then he's laughing, burying his face in the crook of his arm. God, even his back muscles are solid. It's just not right, especially the way they move as he chuckles. Absently, Amelia realizes his father is laughing too and he's turning more than a few shades redder as he tries to tell the little boy something. Her awareness of them evaporates a second later when she notices Hot Guy has actual tricep definition.

Amelia shakes her head. Watching him is becoming an exercise in torturing herself at this point. While he is oh so pretty to look at it, she can't do anything more than that - stupid dibs - so she turns to the task of setting up their tent. Her willpower is damn solid and so is her sense of self-preservation. Besides, someone's going to have to build it and she's pretty sure it's not gonna be Maggie.

It's not like any of them need help with the tent at this point anyway. A meandering summer-long road trip that's been more truck beds and campgrounds than motels means any of the three of them could probably put together the tent in their sleep. Hell, she's pretty sure they did last week when it took an hour longer than they expected to reach the campground they were headed to. But, someone - Celeste… it was Celeste; she doesn't have to ask - had put everything away haphazardly and when Amelia pulls it out, it's a tangled mess.

Amelia huffs in an annoyance - equal parts due to Celeste's packing skills and Maggie's flirting proficiency - and she busies herself with straightening out the tent poles.

Some part of her registers that Hot Guy has come over. She can hear the introductions going on behind her, but she doesn't turn around. Not even when someone tugs insistently on the back of her shirt.

The tent is a lovely and welcome distraction, but the task isn't hers for long. Maggie apparently thinks acting like none of them know what they're doing with the tent is a great way to hit on someone, something that has Amelia rolling her eyes slightly. She's not much a fan of looking incompetent. Regardless of the fact that it gives Maggie and Will - she heard his name… she should probably stop calling him Hot Guy - plenty of pretense to touch in seemingly innocuous ways, it's not something Amelia would ever have done. But, hey, this is Maggie's show and Amelia's just a bit player, so whatever.

"You okay?"

Celeste's question is quiet, barely above a whisper. Neither Maggie nor Will seem to notice, both of them talking about the summer road trip. His hand is on her hip and Maggie is full-on batting her eyelashes.

"Fine," Amelia assures Celeste, just as quietly. And as she says it, she realizes it's true. This level of childish jealousy is ridiculous. She doesn't even know this boy. It's not like it would be anything, anyhow. She's literally passing through town. "I'm fine. I'm just…" Frustrated, horny, irrationally upset at Hot Guy's - er, Will's - abs. "What would you think about going out to a bar or clubbing the next time we hit a big town? Would that bother you?"

Celeste's smile is small, both unsurprised and obviously pleased. "I love that you guys worry about me," the blonde tells her. "And I love that you dropped everything to go on this trip with me."

"Always," Amelia replies immediately. "Celeste, you know that, right? You and Maggie, you come first. If you guys need me, I'm there. No questions asked."

"I know," Celeste replies with a grin. "And I'd do the same for either of you. We should all have fun this trip. And, I know… I know, you are having fun. It's great. But just because I've disavowed men for the foreseeable future doesn't mean either of you should have to. I think going dancing is a really good idea. We all need to burn off some energy. One way or another."

Amelia couldn't keep the relief from her voice as she asks, "Yeah?" even if she wanted to.

"Yeah," Celeste says before laughing under her breath. "As long as you don't mind me grabbing you to dance with when some skeezeball tries to grind on me."

"Right, because you dancing with me is totally going to make guys leave you alone." Amelia scoffs. "That plays into no guy's fantasy ever."

Celeste winks. "Let 'em dream."

Amelia grins because that's the first honest sign of her friend she's seen for weeks. The once confident, playful girl has been a shadow of herself since the breakup. Amelia is grateful to see her true self surfacing now, and it only fuels her slightly murderous rage toward her ex-boyfriend for stealing that light away from her best friend for so long.

Maggie's voice drifts past the now-completed tent. "We could go for a swim or something."

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," Will replies and Amelia bites back a sigh because she knows exactly where this is going.

"That's okay." Maggie replies. "Neither did I."

It's not even true. Swimsuits had been one of the first things they'd packed after camping gear and hiking boots. But the little choking noise Will makes in reply had totally been Maggie's goal and Amelia had seen his reaction coming a mile away.

Boys can be so predictable sometimes.

"Sorry," a heavier voice says, pulling Amelia's focus. It's the older man who'd been by the firepit. Up close, she can easily see that he's definitely Will's dad. The resemblance is undeniable, even if the older man barely looks old enough to be his father. He's taller, his hair more gray than not, probably in his 40s if she had to guess, but easily at least as fit as his son. Does their family just genetically have muscles or something? "Dinner's ready."

Will says something in response to Maggie - "I'll, uh… see you in a bit then" - but for the first time since she saw him, Amelia's attention doesn't snap back to the boy. No, something else tickles at the back of her mind, some sense of recognition flirting with her consciousness as she looks at his father.

"You look really familiar."

She says it without even realizing she's speaking and both Will and his father stop mid-turn as they're about to head back to their side of the campground. Maybe it's the profile, or maybe it's the pleasant but guarded look that takes over the older man's features. Whatever it is, it suddenly clicks and Amelia's eyes go wide as her jaw drop for the second time that night, albeit for very different reasons.

"You're Representative Queen," she blurts. "You're running for Senate, right?"

The hot guy her age completely fades to obscurity because no amount of good looks and abs are going to distract her from the puzzle pieces slotting together in her head. She barely even takes in the plastic smile and almost sheepish confirmation of her suspicions because she already knows and it leaves her so jittery that she can barely believe it.

"Oh my gosh, you're Mayor Moira Queen's son? She's, like, my idol." The words are sort of tumbling past her lips before she even knows what she's saying, but this is Mayor Moira Queen they're talking about and Amelia's excitement level is pretty much off the charts right now. "The work she's done to incentivize business growth in the core downtown areas of Starling City is just groundbreaking. I'm going to do my thesis on her. Is she here, too? Do you think I could meet her?"

Both Representative Queen - who actually is politically pretty interesting in his own right, if your focus is state politics - and his super hot son are blinking back at her with unabashed surprise. Her friends, though… her friends would have seen this coming a mile away, if they'd recognized Representative Queen. Amelia's focus has always been on local politics and she's been fascinated by the unlikely rise and even more unlikely success of Mayor Moira Queen since reading about her in a news article back in high school.

Her dream - her actual daily fantasy - is a summer interning for Moira Queen's chief of staff. Oh man, she can't even imagine what it would be like to be in that room, to help make things happen, to be where the decisions are made and deals are struck for the betterment of the city. Professionally, that's all she wants. She's got no aspirations to an elected position herself - campaigning and glad-handing isn't her thing - but the work… The work is what she wants. Badly.

"She's not here," Representative Queen says. "Camping isn't really her thing. But it sounds like talking with her might help your thesis. I could probably set up a meeting with her, if you'd like. Why don't you give me your e-mail address and I'll have her scheduler contact you."

Amelia damned near falls over. She opens her mouth to respond in some capacity - in any capacity - her words fail her. Her heart pounds and she's lightheaded and it's a little ridiculous, but this is the foundation of all of her daydreams and it's happening. It's actually happening. Celeste sings into her hairbrush in front of the mirror and Maggie absolutely practices post-Olympic win interviews in the shower - she's heard her for years; dorm bathrooms have unfortunate acoustics. This is her version of that.

An actual introduction to Mayor Queen...

She's tempted to pinch herself.

"I need a pen," she declares, grabbing Maggie's arm with a fervor that's a little more desperate than it should be. "Tell me you have a pen?"

The representative laughs and says something about texting - which is a stroke of brilliance because none of them have pens… or paper, for that matter and this is 2030 who who the hell carries pens these days? - but then he says something about getting it from her in a bit because their dinner is getting cold and both he and his older son head off.

"Oh my God… oh my God." Amelia is literally shaking with excitement as she turns back to her friends. Forget Hot Guy, er… Will, whatever. Forget him. He's crazy gorgeous, but his grandmother is Mayor Moira Queen and Amelia might have just gotten an in to meet her actual political hero and she can't stop shaking. "Did that happen? Did that actually just happen?"

"Take a breath, honey," Celeste tells her gently.

"Do I actually get to meet Mayor Queen? Like, did I just magically get an in to the mayor's office on a camping trip in the middle of nowhere with her hot grandson strutting around like some kind of model?"

"He is like a model, isn't he?" Maggie asks, looking over her shoulder. "This is karma. We have good karma, Amelia. We're good people. We deserve this."

"I didn't look like an idiot, did I?" Amelia asks, eyes snapping back to Celeste, who is absolutely the most objective on this. "I didn't bumble or fangirl too hard, right?"

"Your… interest was energetic and evident," Celeste responds evenhandedly. Amelia groans at the response and buries her face in her hands.

"Don't worry," Maggie tells her. "It was cute. I'm pretty sure they found you charming."

"If they didn't, they're idiots and that man has lost my vote," Celeste declares firmly with unwavering loyalty.

Amelia laughs, and it comes out a little manic-sounding. "We don't live in his district, but I appreciate the sentiment," she tells her friend, who deflates a little at this information.

It's fine, though. Everything is good. No, everything is great.

They finish getting the tent up and inhale some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Their standard dinner is getting old, but PB&J is easy food on the road and cheap as hell, which is sort of a necessity. Will and his dad are still chatting near the fireside, his little brother sitting inside their tent when Maggie decides they might as well head down to the river.

Will sees them start toward the water, and Maggie's invitation is blatant enough. But, there's no missing the way his father's shoulders are drooped in some kind of frustration or sadness and Will only gives Maggie a half-smile and a shake of his head before turning back to his dad.

It's that small moment that has Amelia pausing, that has her attention whipping right back to him. He's turned back to his dad, all his attention on their conversation and it's oddly… endearing. She reappraises Will through new eyes. Looking past the beautiful face and hair that's at the perfect length and the sharp lines of his abs, she wonders if maybe there isn't a whole lot more to him than she'd stopped to consider.

The shot of want that'd snapped to life inside her when she saw him for the first time shifts, morphing into something more complex, something not entirely physical. The feeling warms her from the inside out… and then she frowns. Because it doesn't matter.

Maggie called dibs and that will always be true.

"He'll follow," Celeste says to a clearly bummed Maggie as the three of them head down toward the river, flashlights and towels in hand. "You know he's interested."

Maggie nods, shooting Celeste a soft, grateful smile as he loops her arm through the blonde's elbow. The river isn't far and before long, they reach the water. Amelia toes off her shoes to dip a toe in. It's warmer than she'd expected, thankfully, and she turns to find Maggie and Celeste stripping down to their underwear.

"Explain to me again why we aren't wearing bathing suits?" Amelia asks even as she starts to shimmy out of her jeans.

"Because I lied and I can't be the only one without a bathing suit," Maggie tells her. "Besides, a bra and panties are basically the same thing, right?"

Amelia scoffs. "Sure… if they're Hanes."

She's pretty sure Celeste doesn't own anything that isn't a thong, which maybe is the worst possible thing to wear while camping. But, now that she's thinking about it, she's damned near out of laundry herself and she's pretty sure she's wearing her skimpy dinner-date-at-his-place lace bra and panty set…

As Amelia sheds her jeans, tossing them aside before pulling her shirt off, she realizes she was right. It's the pale blue lace set that definitely earn their dinner-date-at-his-place status.

So… Will's gonna get a bit of an eyeful. A little thrill shoots through her chest before she can tamp it down. That's fine. It's dark. He probably won't get much of a look, but even if he does… She can't help it. Dibs or not, the petty side of her sort of hopes it makes him do a double-take.

"Did you bring shampoo?" Maggie asks, blinking at Amelia in surprise as she pulls something from the pocket of her discarded jeans.

"Yup," Amelia confirms, wading into the water. "Sorry to the fish, but my hair comes first. It's been way too long."

"No lies there," Celeste chimes in as she follows suit. "Pass it my way once you're done?"

Amelia nods before sinking beneath the surface of the water to soak her dark, suddenly-curly hair.

The water is crisply refreshing and she savors the gentle rush of it against her skin as her hair floats around her. She catches light from their flashlights, Celeste's lantern, and the fast-setting sun through the water, everything glowing just a bit. It's beautiful, quiet, and in spite of not having brought soap along, she already feels cleaner, like the dust of the trail is melting away in the gentle current.

Her feet easily reach the ground - the water's barely more than waist high - and she stands up suddenly with a sigh. Water cascades off of her, leaving her bra and panties sticking to her skin as she inhales the fresh air with a soft hum. Her hair is long enough that it brushes the surface of the water and she reaches back to wring out the excess water, stretching her back as she does it, only to freeze when she hears a sound. Not any sound, it's a strangled gasp that draws her attention as well as Maggie and Celeste's to the shoreline.

"H… Hi," Will says, flushing adorably. "That's… You weren't kidding about not having bathing suits, huh?"

"Nope," Maggie declares with a big grin as she heads toward him. She looks the most like she could be wearing a swimsuit, in satiny black that isn't the least bit see-through.

"Do you, uh…" Will starts before shaking his head at himself and shrugging off the awkwardness that really hadn't seemed well-suited to him. He doesn't move to take his pants off, though, which is yet another weirdly endearing thing to do. "I just don't want to make anyone uncomfortable by being here…"

"Aw… that's so cute!" Celeste says. "And really, really thoughtful." She slaps the surface of the water. "Damn it. Stop trying to convince me that all men don't suck, because they do."

"Horrible, terrible, inferior creatures," Will agrees, nodding solemnly. "We're the worst and I'm sorry on behalf of all of us for anything and everything we've ever done."

"That's a long list," Amelia chimes in.

To his credit, when Will looks at her, it's obvious that he tries to keep his gaze on her face. But his eyes slide down to her chest of their own volition. That same thrill shoots through her again as he turns a shade pinker and meets her eyes once more.

"Gets longer all the time," he agrees, tacitly admitting his own slip, his voice low.

It's at this point he would be looking away, because the moment is over, but he doesn't. Instead he swallows hard and her eyes drop to catch the way the dying light catches on the bob of his Adam's Apple. Her breath catches at the sight and when she meets his gaze again, there's an unexpected heat waiting for her there.

Amelia stops breathing altogether as they stare at each other. It lasts a couple of seconds, if that, but it feels longer. Too long, some part of her realizes, but the strange connection - one that's forged from literally nothing - still has her stomach hollowing out. It can't last - not now - and it doesn't because Maggie's leaving the water and joining him on the beach and he's there with her… but it also makes Amelia shiver and she knows - she knows - she's not the only one feeling it.

"Hmmm…" Celeste muses from a few feet away

It's enough to make Amelia look away. She blinks furiously, trying to clear her head. A flood of anticipation is quickly filling her chest, making her heart pound. She meets Celeste's eyes where her friend has a speculatively raised eyebrow. But there's nothing playful about Amelia's look - it's heavy, looking for help from her friend, and Celeste instantly picks up on it.

"We aren't sticking around long," Celeste offers up, addressing Will. "Just washing our hair and rinsing off the day. Amelia and I will be outta here in no time."

Amelia nods along without looking back, but she can feel Will's eyes on her and it burns her skin. It's ridiculous. Electric. Completely nonsensical. She clenches her fingers around the travel-sized shampoo bottle in her hand, digging her nails in her palm to keep herself from looking back.

They absolutely need to go dancing or bar hopping or something because it's intensely clear that she needs to spend some time with a guy in the very near future. That's all this is. Nearly a year of repression in favor of education and friendship has finally caught up with her. That's all it can be. Anything else would be preposterous.

"Okay… if you're sure it's alright?" Will asks again, because apparently he's a gentleman.

Which is not helping.

"No worries at all," Amelia says - her voice almost comes out relatively normal, which is a feat and she almost pats herself on the back - because she just knows he's waiting for her input. Celeste has been clear enough and Maggie is full-on eager for his company. She casts him a quick glance as she sinks down into the water so that it's level with her collarbone. "Like Celeste said… she and I are just here for a few minutes. Then, we'll give you two some privacy. We're all adults. I'm pretty sure we can handle sharing the same river."

There's a long enough pause - a loaded enough pause - where they just stare at each other again before he replies that Maggie actually clears her throat. It jars them both and Amelia finds herself looking back at Celeste who mouths the word, "Dude!" at her emphatically.

Will sounds like maybe he's laughing at himself, letting out a quiet huff of air and a ruefully amused, "Big river," in agreement.

"Yup," Amelia says. "Big river." She turns away from him and ventures further into the water, intent on washing her hair and getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible. The slosh of water behind her tells her that Celeste is following suit though.

"What the hell was that?" her friend demands in a quiet hiss as Amelia dispenses some shampoo into her hand and starts working it through her hair. She must take a while to respond because an insistent, "Amelia," follows a second later before Celeste grabs her elbow.

"I don't know," Amelia admits, glancing over her shoulder. She groans slightly when she sees Will's stripped down to his boxers and is wading into the water after Maggie, their hands linked. He doesn't look her way. "I don't know, okay?" She looks back to Celeste. "It's just… that was… nothing."

"Uh, it sure as hell was not nothing," Celeste counters, taking the shampoo and squeezing a dollop into her hands. She glances at Will and Maggie as she works it through her own hair. "That was the opposite of nothing. You two were zinging all over the place."

"Zinging?" Amelia asks, pausing mid-scrub of her scalp. "What does that even mean?"

"You know… zinging," Celeste says, waving a hand. "Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean."

"Your English Lit professor would be ashamed of you right now, you know that, right?" Amelia demands, in what might be the world's worst redirect.

"Whatever," Celeste scoffs, rolling her eyes. "That was some Hollywood shit back there and you're just going to brush it off?"

"He did," Amelia replies with a one-shouldered shrug. And, wow is that ever true. Glancing his way again, she can easily see in the dim light that Maggie has both hands on his shoulders and his fingers are settled against her waist. Zinging or not, his focus is totally on her friend right now. Which is how it had been supposed to be. "Besides… dibs, right?" she adds.

"Forgive me for saying this, because I'm usually the first to be all 'rah-rah, girl code,' but fuck dibs," Celeste says. "If you'd said anything at all showing actual interest, Maggie would have backed off and you know it."

Amelia sighs, letting her hands drop to the water. "I don't know him, Celeste," she points out. "I have no reason to have any more interest than she has. And besides, it's not like any of this means anything. It can't. Life isn't like Hollywood. There's no happily ever after here."

"You're depressing sometimes, you know that?" Celeste demands before dipping her hair in the river to rinse out the shampoo.

"I'm pragmatic," Amelia replies before doing the same.

Celeste has always been fast to feel, fast to fall hard, and it's crushed her more than once. This road trip is the perfect example of that. She's a dreamer, a romantic. Amelia is not. Crazy connection with a guy in the woods notwithstanding, she's practical, focused, realistic and carefully planned. The only dreams she believes in are the ones she knows how to work towards.

Life's too short for fanciful notions of meaningful connections with guys she doesn't even know.

"One day," Celeste says, shaking her freshly rinsed hair, "you're going to fall head over heels for some guy. Maybe not this guy, but someone and I just hope I'm there to see it because it's going to be amazing."

Amelia can't help the smile that spreads across her face at the declaration. "You're crazy. And hey, you and Maggie are the world's best friends," she says, wading through the water to close the distance between them. "Whatever happens in the future, you'll both be there to see it. No guy, no matter how hot, could ever be more amazing than that."

Celeste's grin is blinding even in the glow of twilight and she rests her cheek against Amelia's shoulder, hugging her arm tightly. It only reaffirms for Amelia that she's right. These girls, these amazing girls, are all she really needs in life. Plans are adaptable and boys are a dime a dozen. Friends like Celeste and Maggie are nowhere near as plentiful.

"Let's clear out," Amelia decides. She dips back once more to rinse her hair before deeming it as rinsed as it's going to get. "Give them a bit of privacy."

Maggie's laughter echoes from somewhere in the background, the sound quickly followed by Will's low chuckle. It's weirdly intrusive being nearby, even if the duo knows they're there. Besides, it's not that dark yet and a quick glance over toward them shows they've only gotten closer.

So… yup, it's time to go.

"Think we can get a signal out here?" Amelia asks as she heads toward the shore, Celeste close in her wake. "We might be able to catch the end of the game."

"We can try," Celeste replies, but she sounds doubtful. Amelia is too, to be honest, which sucks because the Starling City Rockets are playing the Central City Comets and it promised to be one hell of a match up. She'd really wanted to see it, but neither Celeste nor Maggie care nearly as much about baseball as she does and she hadn't been about to suggest they alter plans just so she could see the game.

"If not, I've got some more episodes loaded up on my tablet…" Amelia grins as her feet hit dry land and she grabs a towel to wrap around herself.

"Oh hell no," Celeste protests as she follows suit. "I don't get your love of that damn zombie show when we're all snug and safe in the dorms, but I'm sure as hell not watching it in a tent in the dark in the middle of nowhere! You're nuts."

Amelia just laughs as she dries off as best she can before struggling her way back into her jeans. Celeste does the same before tossing her damp blonde locks over her shoulder and looking back toward the water.

"Hey, canoodlers!" Celeste shouts toward Maggie and Will.

"Is that even a word?" Maggie calls back.

Will laughs, full-throated and stupidly attractive, but the sound dies off when his eyes meet Amelia's. He's still smiling, but now it's strained, confused. She gets that. She feels it, too, and she doesn't hold it against him in the least when he pointedly stops looking at her and fixes his gaze on Celeste instead. Distance feels like a really great idea right now.

"It is now because I said so," Celeste says. "We're leaving you the lantern, but we're headed back to the tent. But, you, mister…" Celeste adds, wagging her finger in Will's direction. "If she doesn't come back to us safe and smiling I will personally beat you senseless with a tent pole. Got it?"

"I'd expect nothing less," Will replies. "I swear to defy tradition and be less awful than most men."

"You'd better!" Celeste tells him before grabbing Amelia's hand and pulling her toward the path back to the campsite.

There's a split second where Amelia's eyes meet Will's once more before she's tugged away by Celeste. Zinging is right, because just his eyes locking with hers sets a tingle spreading out across her nerve endings and makes her heartbeat go double-time.

But it's transient. It doesn't last, because neither of them let it. He blinks like he's trying to clear his vision and turns back toward Maggie while Amelia's eyes shift back to the path in front of her just in time to step over a discarded oar someone had left near the shore. None of this makes sense to her, not at all, but it also doesn't have to because tomorrow they'll be on their way and Will will be on his, and this blip of a moment will be firmly in the rearview mirror.

"So…" Celeste ventures as they work their way down the short path back to their tent. They probably didn't even need the flashlights because the firepit near the tents is still going strong. "What quarter do you think they're in?"

"Inning, Celeste." Amelia laughs, shaking her head at her friend. "Baseball has innings."

"Oh… right," Celeste replies. The blonde might not give a damn about baseball, but Amelia's certain she knew at least that much. She's trying to distract her, to redirect Amelia's thoughts, and the realization has gratitude washing through her.

"It's… what?" Amelia asks, evaluating the nearly-absent sunlight. "Like seven?"

"Something like that," Celeste agrees.

"I'm gonna guess bottom of the fifth and the Comets are up by two," she decides, mulling over the pre-game commentary she'd made the girls listen to in the car.

"You and your precious Comets." Celeste shakes her head. "You want to lay money on that?"

"What money?" Amelia laughs. "I've got like five dollars in quarters and a stick of gum."

"I'll take the gum, then," Celeste tells her.

Amelia just shoves against her shoulder as they spill out into the clearing of their campsite. "The Comets are not losing," she insists. "I refuse to believe that. My boys are winners and Perez's screwball is going to completely dominate that game. I will bet you my gum."

Her words draw the attention of Will's dad and brother who are roasting marshmallows by the fire. The look on Will's dad's face is strange - pensive and surprised, she thinks - but it doesn't last long because the kid at his side tugs his sleeve and says something to him quietly.

The representative smiles down at the boy and nods, gripping his shoulder with blatant affection.

"You guys want some s'mores?" the kid calls out to her and Celeste.

"Hell yes!" Celeste agrees loudly, before clamping her hand over her mouth. "Heck. I meant heck. Ignore that first word, young impressionable child."

"It's okay," the kid tells her, his little voice carrying across the campsite, "I've heard way worse from Jules."

"Who's Jules?" Celeste asks as they head toward the fire.

"His oldest sister," Will's dad replies, holding out an open bag of marshmallows toward them as he watches the little boy. "Who I clearly need to have a chat with when we get back."

"It's okay," the kid says. "It's not like I'm going to repeat any of it. I know the rules."

"That's not really the point, Nate," he replies.

The kid - Nate - just shrugs and pulls a gooey marshmallow off the end of his stick before popping it in his mouth.

"That's a sad attempt at a s'more, my friend," Amelia tells him as he breaks off a piece of chocolate and chews on that as well. His hands are a mess of sugary goodness and he grins broadly at her with a smudge of Hershey's on his cheek. It's adorable.

"It's d'licious," he announces around a mouthful of food.

"Nate!" his father protests, laughing in a way that both deepens the crinkles around the older man's eyes and somehow makes him seem younger at the same time. "No talking with food in your mouth."

He doesn't look sorry, though. He just wriggles in place happily savoring the sweets as he grins up at his dad.

"Look here, I'm a s'more expert," Celeste declares. "Practically a gourmet s'more chef and, for my money, you're missing a key ingredient."

After a heavy gulp so he's no longer talking with food in his mouth, Nate asks, "What's that?"

"Peanut butter," Celeste informs him. "Every serious camper knows peanut butter is necessary for the best s'mores. I'll have you know we have some in our tent, if you want to try."

The little boy's eyes light up and he looks at his father for permission. "Can I?" he asks. "Can I have some? Please?"

His father hesitates a moment, and it's almost ridiculous how torn he looks over peanut butter before he says, "Yeah. We'll just make sure to stop and really wash up well before we go home." Amelia's eyebrows shoot up in curiosity and he adds, "My wife's allergic."

"I never get peanut butter!" Nate declares. "This is awesome."

He scrambles to his feet and, with childish glee, grabs hold of Celeste's hand and pulls her toward her tent. "You're the best for sharing. My name's Nate. What's yours? Did you ever try s'mores with caramel because I think that would be really good," he says in a cascade of words. The kid's on a sugar high for sure and he's looking up at Celeste like she's the s'more guru she proclaimed she was.

"Cute kid," Amelia says to Representative Queen as he shakes his head affectionately after his younger son.

"Thank you. He's pretty great," he agrees. He glances at her, pausing for a second. "Both of my boys are, I think. But then, I'm a little biased."

"Mmm," Amelia echoes, not liking the Insightful Adult look on Will's father's face in the least. "My friends are pretty great, too," she replies. She watches as Celeste tosses things from her knapsack in search of peanut butter before looking back at the representative. "But then, I'm also a little biased."

If she's not mistaken, there's a sheen of respect reflecting back at her in the older man's eyes and she pats herself on the back for not melting into a crazy political fangirl of his mother again.

"So, you're a political science major?" he asks, taking a swig of what smells like coffee from a thermos.

"With a minor in media relations and a few extra business classes," she adds, snapping off the end of a graham cracker and chewing it slowly.

"When do you graduate?" he asks.

"I have two semesters left," she tells him. "It was going to be one, but… Celeste needed company this summer. That was more important."

He doesn't reply right away, not unless you count an inquisitive stare as a response. Something tells her very quickly that Representative Queen is an intensely good judge of character - probably a skill honed by years in politics, if nothing else - and it leaves her feeling like she's being studied. It could be unsettling, but it's not because she gets the sense she's passing with flying colors.

"That sort of loyalty is hard won," he notes.

"It is," she agrees without expanding on the thought.

When it becomes obvious she's not going to say anything else - something else he seems to respect if the pleased quirk of his lips is anything to go by - he asks, "So why politics?"

"Because it's important," she says without a second thought. "Because it's the key to everything in our lives. Employment, crime-prevention, education, environmental regulation… I think if we want the world to be better, we have to start at home and we have to focus on the everyday things. I think we need people willing to dedicate their lives to bettering our communities and I want to be one of those people. Don't you, Mister Representative? Isn't that why you're in politics?"

She's surprised him; she can tell.

"Do you have your phone on you?" he asks.

Amelia nods and tugs it out of her jean pocket, unlocking it before handing it to him. He doesn't waste a second, opening up her e-mail and punching in his information into her contacts list.

"That's my office," he tells her, handing it back. "E-mail me your transcript and schedule. I'll talk to my mother about getting you an internship in her office. If she won't do it, my office will. We need more people with that attitude in government."

It takes her too long to process all of his words, because she can't possibly have actually heard that correctly. She doesn't realize her jaw is hanging open until his amused look registers… and then she's pretty sure she did hear him correctly.

"Re… really? That's… Oh wow," Amelia breathes out, looking down at her phone. "I'm just… wow."

He laughs in honest amusement at her utter lack of words. Nate barrels back to his side with a jar of peanut butter under his arm and a spoon in his mouth as Celeste plops down next to her. She tugs on the end of one of Amelia's fast-drying curls to get her attention.

"Did you choke on a marshmallow or something?" Celeste asks, eyeing the way Amelia keeps opening and shutting her mouth without making a sound. "Are you dying? Because I know CPR and I will do it, if necessary."

"No, I… the representative just said he'd make sure I either got an internship in Mayor Queen's office or in his." If the words come out a little breathless and amazed, there's no way Celeste will be thrown by that. She knows her well enough to expect that.

"Woah!" Celeste answers, her mouth staying in a little 'o' shape long after the word leaves her lips.

"You can call me Oliver," the representative says, stealing the spoon of peanut butter from his son.

"No, sir," Amelia says immediately. "Forgive me, sir, but if there's a chance I'm going to work in your office, I'll be calling you Mister Representative because it's a serious job and a serious title and I will take it seriously."

The words almost make sense. They do in her head anyhow, but the representative covers a laugh with the back of his hand as he shakes his head at her.

"If you prefer," he agrees. "I understand. And provided we can work something out with your schedule and your grades are decent-"

"I have a 3.4," Amelia blurts out. "It could be better, I know, but my dad died my freshman year and I kept going and I passed everything but it was a rough year and it did drag me down. Not that that's an excuse. I know it's not and I know it could be better, but it's… it's not bad, right? That's still decent?"

There's a beat of silence followed by Nate's sad little voice asking, "Your dad died?" He's all wide-eyed and shell-shocked by the very notion.

"Yeah…" she says after a moment. "Yeah, he did."

She doesn't miss the way Nate curls his hands around his dad's forearm. He's so very young, so incredibly innocent still. His father probably seems larger than life to him. Amelia can remember when hers did, too.

"I think a 3.4 is more than decent," the representative tells her. "And I'm very sorry for your loss. I know what it's like to go through something like that."

He does. She hasn't researched him much, but she knows all about his mother and because of that she knows about his years lost at sea, and the death of his father. It's an odd kind of thing to find kinship over, but there's an understanding that settles between them anyhow. Losing a parent isn't something you ever really get over and the scars of that are visible in both of them, when you know where to look.

"Thank you," Amelia breathes out, pushing some hair behind her ear. "I appreciate that. I appreciate all of this."

"Like I said," he says, tilting his head toward her. "Our government needs more people like you."

"You don't happen to know any publishing houses that need people like me, do you?" Celeste pipes up. Amelia smacks her shoulder. "What? It totally doesn't hurt to ask."

"Not a political science major?" Representative Queen asks the blonde.

"Ew. No," Celeste says with a shudder. "English lit."

"Sorry, no," he replies. "I'm afraid I can't be much help there. What about your other friend?" His gaze casts back in the direction of the river and Amelia can instantly tell that he's far more curious about Maggie than he's willing to let on. That's okay. She probably would be, too, if she were in his shoes.

"Art history," Celeste tells him. "Does Will like art?"

"Not unless his sister did it," he replies, a strange note of relief in his voice. Before Amelia can puzzle that out, he switches subjects. "Did I hear you girls say you wanted to see if you could catch the end of the game?"

"Well, Amelia did." Celeste laughs. "You would not believe the yammering Maggie and I put up with about IRAs and RBIs."

"ERAs, Celeste, for the eleven-millionth time," Amelia sighs. "IRAs are for your retirement."

"Whatever," Celeste says with a wave of her hand. "I'm 21 and I don't care about either of those things right now. But for your sake hon, I did check to see if we could catch the end of it, but there's not a good enough signal to watch the game from here."

"Damn," Amelia whispers, though she isn't really been surprised in the least.

"It's okay, though… because maybe I'll cave and watch one episode of that stupid show of yours with you," Celeste allows. "But if I have nightmares, you're going to be the one who is gonna have to stay up with me, got it?"

"Deal!" Amelia announces, grinning widely. "Such a deal. No worries, Celeste. I'll protect you from the walkers. I'll have your back in any and all apocalypses."

"Walking Dead?" the representative asks sharply. "You're watching Walking Dead?"

"You know it?" Celeste asks, standing up and brushing off her jeans. "Amelia loves that show. It's super gross for my money and Maggie hates that there's someone with her name because she's, like, sure the girl is going to die and she says she can't handle that. But Amelia keeps making us watch it anyhow."

"Is there a better road trip through the wilderness show?" Amelia questions rhetorically as she takes Celeste's hand and lets her friend pull her to stand up. "I don't think so."

"We'll let you guys get back to your s'mores," Celeste says, leaning over and ruffling Nate's hair. The kid obviously likes her because he grins up at her before running his fingers through it to fix it. "You can keep the peanut butter."

"Thanks!" Nate tells her through a mouthful of dessert that makes it sound more like 'Fangs.'

Celeste nods her head toward the tent, but Amelia takes a moment to look back at the state representative who might have just changed the whole course of her career for the simple reason that he felt like she could do good in this world. She isn't quite certain what she said to convince him or why he felt the need to take a chance on her, but he's said he will and that is pretty much amazing to the soon-to-be college senior.

Amelia tugs on Celeste's hand to get her to wait as she turns back to the older man.

"I want to thank you, Mister Representative," Amelia tells him. "I can't begin to express how excited I am to have a chance to work in your mother's office, or in yours. Either one feels kind of like a dream to me."

"You're welcome," he tells her. He looks amused about something, but she doesn't really know why. Somewhere in the background, toward the river, she can hear Will's laugh ring out and for an instant the representative looks in the direction where his older son is spending his evening. "Sometimes… sometimes you can just tell when someone is going to be the right fit for something."

He doesn't expand on that observation and, in the weeks that follow, Amelia won't be able to shake the feeling that he wasn't just talking about politics.

But, it will be fifteen years before she knows it for sure.


	14. June 2016

**June 2016**

It's a disaster.

An actual disaster.

The room is a mess - no, the entire second floor of the brownstone is a mess, which is a feat in and of itself because it's not that small. It looks like someone whipped through with a multi-colored and toy-filled tornado, leaving nothing but joyful wreckage in their path.

Actually… that's not far from the truth.

Oliver pauses on the stairs, his hand on the gate latch, a breathy chuckle sneaking past his lips as he looks around.

The someone in question - or rather, the someones - are currently napping.

When Oliver had volunteered he and Felicity to babysit Sara while Digg and Lyla went on their honeymoon, he hadn't actually talked to Felicity about it yet. Or given it any kind of thought, really. It was a no-brainer. John's the closest thing to a brother he's ever had and he and Lyla deserved some time alone to celebrate their marriage. And he knows - he's hopeful, at least, although that too feels like a no-brainer - that the Diggles will return the favor this winter when he finally marries Felicity.

So when the idea had come up a few months ago, the words, " _We can watch Sara,"_ had come flying out.

They had their own little one at home, and they'd gotten into a routine with her. How hard could it be?

Apparently _very._

While he loves having baby Sara around the house, he'd quickly discovered that it's slightly more overwhelming than he'd expected. This is something Felicity had seen far more readily than him, because her face had frozen at his offer to Diggle. He can still see her where she'd spun away from her computers to face him and Digg in the foundry, the squeak of her chair echoing the slightly hysterical laugh she'd let out.

"Sure," she'd choked, the single syllable word sounding like it lodged in her throat along the way out. She'd nodded in reluctant but manic agreement, her ponytail bouncing with the force of it. "Yup. That would be… _super_."

Digg had been less than convinced after that and it'd taken her four days of reassuring him that despite of her reservations - " _very sane reservations, but only because one plus one equals two, which is a lot of baby, and we both know how bad Oliver did in math"_ \- she really would be happy to watch Sara for them.

And she'd meant it, even though the notion had clearly been overwhelming to her.

"Ha," she said one night, "you just wait. Wait until you have two little creatures running afoot. You better watch those huge feet of yours because we are not going to be explaining to John and Lyla that Sara's little fingers are squished because you always forget how fast babies are."

Oliver had just rolled his eyes, poking her side until she was giggling, teasing her about the big feet comment until it'd dissolved into something far more fun and pleasurable than tickling.

Felicity adores little Sara, he knows that. They both do. The giggly little girl - who's recently taken to calling her 'Fiss' in her stubborn attempts to make her little lips form the word 'Felicity' - has absolutely stolen their hearts. And she'd reiterated that point many times, in addition to reminding him that babies are a lot of work.

With their seventeen months of baby practice, Oliver had honestly believed he knew what he was getting them into.

He was wrong.

Rather than doubling the chaos with two children under their roof, the additional one-and-a-half-year-old had actually amplified it exponentially.

Felicity had seen it coming. Oliver hadn't. Which is what makes it more than fair that he's the one at home with the babies while Felicity's trying on wedding dresses with their moms and Thea. In reality, it's possible that their mothers are more overwhelming than the babies, especially because both little girls are napping at the moment.

Which he is currently going to take complete advantage of.

Oliver climbs the rest of the stairs, re-latching the gate behind him before dropping to his knees to pick up some of the mess they've left in their wake throughout the morning. Cheerios are _everywhere_ and he's positive the toys have reached self-multiplying capabilities. It's contained to one floor, at least. Baby gates ensure that much and whoever invented them deserves a kiss. Although some days the barriers seem like they're there as much to protect the house from the kids as it is to protect the kids from the house. Jules can be awfully sneaky when she wants to be; she's definitely inherited his ability to find trouble.

She's so much more than he ever expected.

Before Jules, Oliver's exposure to kids had been limited, but his experience with babies was non-existent. He'd had some idea of how to be a father, thanks to Ellie and William, but he'd had no clue how to parent an infant. Thankfully the criminal element in Starling had been quieter than usual those first couple of months, because he's not sure what they would have done if they'd had to deal with a normal level of citywide emergency. Between amazing amounts of exhaustion and the severe postpartum depression Felicity hadn't wanted to admit she'd had, there'd been little left to give to the city during those days.

He hadn't missed it, though.

It's strange to think that now, because being the Arrow is a vital part of who he is, but being a father to his little girl is so much more. And being home with her - getting up for midnight diaper changes and three a.m. feedings, holding her close as he tries to rock her back to sleep - that feels like the most important thing he's ever done. Like the next step in righting the wrongs his own father had left behind.

He's tried to imagine his dad doing any of this. He can't.

Something gooey coats one side of a foam puzzle piece he picks up, but he barely blinks an eye. That kind of thing doesn't faze him in the least anymore. He sets the toy aside, wiping his fingers on his jeans when he hears… something.

Oliver freezes, tilting his head toward the hall.

The soft rustle from the other room probably would have gone unheard by virtually everyone else, but Oliver's a father and a vigilante. Both roles have honed his senses to what he swears some days are near-supernatural levels.

Ignoring the half-picked up mess - the girls are going to destroy any progress he's made in the blink of an eye anyhow - he makes his way down the hallway toward the nursery.

Technically, there are two nurseries. They long ago started setting one up for Ellie's eventual arrival, giving themselves a tangible reminder that she was real, that they will have her back someday. In just about two more years now, actually. But they don't use that room. It sits empty and silent, awaiting the life that Ellie will breathe into it with her arrival. Her crib, however, has been pulled across the hall to Jules' room for the time being, a temporary bed for Sara.

He figures Ellie wouldn't mind.

And it's an arrangement that Sara seems quite happy with given he finds her still fast asleep when he peeks through the barely open door. Jules, however, is wide awake. She's standing up on her tiptoes, her tiny hands gripping the smooth wooden railing of her crib. She may look like she's innocently taking a gander of her room, but he knows she's looking for a way out. She hasn't quite got it yet, but she's close. How many times has he come in to find her halfway up the rails or inadvertently using her elephant as a stepstool? Too many and it makes him nervous. The thought of his baby girl making it over the side of that crib while he and Felicity are fast asleep is enough to give him an ulcer. He's going to have to convert it to a toddler bed soon. And _wow_ , does that idea sock him right in the gut. In his eyes, she's still just a newborn. She needs to stop growing so fast.

Oliver pushes the door open, which has Jules' head whipping to face him. "Hey there, baby girl," he greets her, keeping his voice low so he doesn't wake up Sara.

"Da!" she announces loudly with absolutely no heed paid to her sleeping visitor.

" _Shh_ ," he hushes as he pads across her carpet, holding a finger up to his lips. "We don't want to wake Sara, Julie-bug."

Confusion tugs at her soft little features as she looks toward the other crib. It's been two days since Digg and Lyla left, but Sara's presence still throws Jules.

"Sa' nigh-nigh?" she asks as he reaches her side.

"Yeah, baby. She's night-night," Oliver confirms, brushing the short, dark locks of hair away from her pudgy little cheeks. "You hungry, sweetheart?"

Jules shakes her head no and lifts her arms straight into the air. "Up, Da. Want up. All done nigh-nigh."

Her nap lasted all of half an hour, which is about what he expects from his little girl at this point. Sara tends toward much longer naps than Jules, but she's also far more wild when she's up.

She's damn near weightless as he lifts her up into his arms.

That alone had taken getting used to after she'd been born. He'd been so terrified of dropping her, of breaking her, of accidentally hurting her. He'll never forget how small she'd seemed cradled in his arms in the hospital room, somehow simultaneously making him feel so huge and so tiny in that moment. When he'd cupped her little head in his palm, she'd been so small, but then she'd opened her eyes and looked right at him for the first time. He'd been the tiny one, then, when he'd seen the whole world in her eyes.

But he's had nearly a year and a half of practice at this point and it's second nature now.

"Do you need a change?" he asks, patting her little diapered butt. It still feels fresh, though, and she's not being whiny so he figures she's probably fine. Not that she's paying any attention to his question anyway. She's too distracted by her newfound view, taking advantage of her sudden height as she soaks in everything around her.

Jules has a keen attention to detail. It astounds him sometimes, the things she notices. Her language skills are starting to catch up, barely hinting at the sharp intelligence he knows lies beneath her mostly quiet exterior. She's her mother's daughter, brilliant and insightful, and he's so grateful for that.

"Sa' nigh-nigh?" she asks, looking at the other crib. From her tone, he's pretty sure the question is _why_ is she asleep. Better, why is she _here_? It's confusing to her and he gets that.

"Uncle Digg and Aunt Lyla went on a trip, remember? After their wedding?" he asks, tucking her hair behind her ear, savoring the soft, smooth texture of her baby skin beneath his roughened fingertips. "She's staying with us for a few days."

Jules clearly doesn't like that answer. Her look sharpens into a pointed glare as she clings to the back of his shirt collar. She grips the material tighter, making a fist, sending her little nails digging into the nape of his neck. They're sharp enough to make him wince. He really needs to cut them.

" _My_ da," she announces, looking from Sara to her father, the glare melting into a frustrated face. Her lower lip juts out, her shockingly blue eyes starting to water. "No Sa'. Sa' go now. Dada is Ju's dada."

Her distress makes his heart crack a little and he holds her closer, pressing her head to his chest as he takes a few steps away from her crib toward the door. "Uncle Digg's her dada, honey," he reminds her. "This is just a long babysitting. Okay? Digg and Lyla will come back and pick her up next week."

Jules pulls back to look him in the eye, wariness painting itself across her face. She's weighing the truth in his words and when her eyes narrow, her little brow furrowing, it makes him smile. It's equal parts adorable and ridiculous, and Oliver shakes his head with a breathy chuckle as they leave the nursery. She must decide she believes him because the judgemental little look fades away as she takes in her new surroundings.

"Momma?" she asks, a hopeful note to her tone.

"She's shopping with Aunt Thea and your grandmas," Oliver tells her. Shopping for wedding dresses. His heart speeds up a tick at the thought of Felicity trying on wedding dresses. His chest tightens with happiness. He's wanted this with her for so long. He kisses Jules' forehead, pausing to breathe her in. Sometimes it still shocks him that he's this lucky. He rubs his hand up and down her back as she adds, "She's looking for a very pretty dress."

"For Ju's?" Jules asks, pointing at herself.

Oliver grins and kisses her cheek softly. "No, baby, for her. For when mommy and daddy get married. It's a special dress. Sort of like a princess dress."

She wants to say something, his little Julie-bug, but she doesn't seem to know the right words. She just sort of huffs instead, pouting as she looks off to the side. He thinks he knows what she wants.

"Did you want a pretty dress, too, Julie?" he asks. "Like Momma?"

Her whole face lights up and a thrill at being right - at reading her so correctly - shoots through him. She nods hard, her dark locks bouncing with the movement.

"Okay, baby girl," he says. "If Momma's going to look like a princess, you should, too. I think that's only fair. We'll find you something extra pretty, okay?"

In truth, Jules is the entire reason they've waited this long to get married. When he'd first proposed to Felicity on the one-year-anniversary of the day Ellie had first entered their lives, Jules had been just over three months old. He'd have married her on the spot, if she'd have gone along with that.

But she'd wanted their little girl to walk her down the aisle.

The idea of that, the mental image of Felicity and their daughter walking toward him at the altar… it'd blown him away. Felicity had never been the sort to be 'given away' or be 'offered' for marriage by her father - had he even been in her life - or her mother, despite her importance to Felicity's life. He can't imagine either scenario. But this… it's different. _Fitting_. It is, in so many ways, their children that brought them together, and Jules taking those steps at her side feels like everything he never knew he wanted.

Part of waiting had been that she'd needed to learn how to _walk_ first.

"You'll have the prettiest dress there, Julie-bug," he promises. "You and your mommy. Okay?" He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head as he adds, "You'll probably make me cry."

They will. He's going to absolutely lose it when he sees the two of them walking toward him.

But the idea of any tears at all has Jules swinging from pleased right back to worried in an instant.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "No, Dada. No sad."

"Oh, no, honey," he replies. "I won't be sad. I'll be so happy that I'll cry."

She doesn't believe him about this one. Or she doesn't fully understand. Either way, her side-eye game is remarkable and it's out in full force. The sight of it - her icy blue eyes narrowed at him in wary judgement - makes him chuckle again. He presses another kiss to her pudgy little cheek.

How is that look so damn cute? He has no idea, but it is.

Oliver's not sure he's convinced her of anything, but she's also one and a half. Her attention span is slim when it's not honed in on something she's decided she must have immediately. With a sigh, she looks around again, gaze flitting around. He wonders what she sees, wishing he could look at the world through her eyes.

When her line of sight fixes on something for a bit, he follows her gaze.

She's staring at a pair of framed crayon drawings hanging in the hall outside of what will eventually be Ellie's room.

The moment Ellie had created them two years ago is so clear in his head. " _This is going to go up right next to the picture you drew for daddy_ ," Felicity had said to the happy little four-year-old. And it had. Both pictures serve as vital reminders for them that she'd _happened_ , that just because the world thinks that a distant cousin named 'Lily' had gone back to her birth parents doesn't mean Ellie was any less _theirs_ , any less a crucial part of their lives.

It's incredible how quickly you can fall in love with your children. That's been true for him with both of his daughters, with his firstborn son, and he knows without a doubt it will be true for Nate when he comes along, too.

They make his heart so _full_.

"I do," Jules says, pulling his attention back to the present where his little girl sits in his arms, her small hands curled around the back of his neck.

Her eyes are still fixed on the art.

"No, sweetie," he tells her. "You didn't do those. Ellie did. A long time ago, before you were born. She drew them for Mommy and Daddy."

The look on her face is the closest thing to a scowl he can imagine from a child who isn't really even a toddler yet.

" _Ju's_ do," she repeats. Her insistence is striking and his little girl is nothing if not stubborn. He knows he's not going to convince her, in spite of the fact that her art skills are just scribbles at this age. She's not physically _capable_ of stick figures yet.

So, he tries another tactic.

"Do you remember how we told you about Ellie, Julie-bug?" he asks, tucking her against his chest as he cups her cheek. He walks toward the pictures she's eyeing. "She's your sister, but she had to go away for a while. You'll get to meet her in about two more years, though, okay? And you'll be a great sister, Julie-bug. You're going to love her." He pauses in front of the framed art, tapping the frame of one of them. "She drew these."

Jules heaves a great sigh. It's such a big sound for such a little girl. "No, Dada. _I_ do."

"Honey…" he starts before cutting himself off and shaking his head. How do you get through to a stubborn one-year-old who's sure she's right? "You're both brilliant little artists," he finishes, trying to shift the conversation.

Jules just looks at him. He feels like he's being scrutinized by his little girl. The way she stares at him, it's more like she's looking _through_ him. There's also a hint of disappointment there, and he wants to fight against it because he never wants to let her down… He's just not sure what to fix right now.

With another sigh, Jules lets go of his neck and wriggles as she says, "Down, Dada." She has absolutely no heed for her own safety as she moves. There's no chance at all of him dropping her - not now, not ever - and she knows that on a bone-deep level.

Oliver sets her down and she toddles across the room to a little table in the corner of the family room. He's right behind her, so he sees her grab a dark purple crayon. She clenches it in her tiny fist and starts scribbling on a piece of construction paper.

"Oh," he realizes as what she'd meant dawns on him. "You _wanted_ to color. That's what you were saying. I'm sorry, baby. I didn't understand."

She's too zeroed in on her drawing to reply. When it becomes obvious her art is where her attention is at and where it's staying, he goes back to cleaning up the space around her. He divides his attention between the wreck the girls have made of the family room and his little girl drawing quietly at the art table. Jules bites at her lip as she works; she's dedicated with a single-mindedness that's surprising from someone so little. But that's his Julie-bug.

It's a solid ten minutes before she puts down the crayons and gets up from the table, paper in hand. She walks over to where Oliver's been squatting down, putting wooden blocks back in a bin and puts her hand on his knee as she holds out the paper.

"I do," she announces firmly. "No Elle. Ju's."

There's an honest note of distress in her voice and Oliver wants to kick himself for misinterpreting her earlier.

"I know," he tells her, pulling her up onto his knee with one arm as he takes the paper with his other hand. It's a riot of scribbles in a torrent of colors with sparkles throughout. Donna had bought her glittery crayons last week, proclaiming they were a necessity, and Jules had been more than a little fascinated at the way they reflected the light… especially on the baseboards of her room. "This is beautiful, Julie-bug. I love it a lot. I can see how hard you worked on it."

"Up?" she asks. She's not asking to be picked up. She's touching her picture and pointing back toward Ellie's drawings. She wants the picture up on the wall, like her sister's.

"I think we can put it up outside your room," he offers. "Just like Ellie's is outside of hers. Okay?"

The relieved little smile that curls her red, bow-shaped lips makes him want to hold her closer. He settles on his haunches, paying no attention to the dull throb in his knees as he tugs her further into the crook of his arm.

"Did you want to read a book together?" he asks. Mostly because he wants something to keep her occupied while she cuddles up to him.

"No," she says, tapping her picture. "Up."

"Now?" he asks. She nods firmly. Once Jules gets something in her head, it's pretty hard to dissuade her. With a nod, Oliver says, "Okay then. Up it goes."

He stands up, Jules still in his arms as he adjusts her so she's sitting on his hip. It only takes a few minutes to find some tape, but it takes longer for Jules to agree to his placement of her picture. It takes even longer because he doesn't want to put her down, so he ends up juggling her, the tape and the picture, something that makes his little girl squeal with delight when he leans forward. The art winds up angled oddly and lower than an adult eye-level, but she deems it perfect, which means it's good for him, too.

By the time Jules is nodding with a quietly happy smile, the picture is practically laminated to the wall and Oliver can hear the front door shut downstairs.

"I think your mommy's home," he tells her. Jules sits up straighter, her neck stretching out as she cranes it, looking around for her mother. Footfalls sound on the stairs, getting closer. His soon-to-be wife is trying to be quiet, probably not wanting to wake the girls, but both he and Jules hear her anyway.

The moment Felicity's blonde hair comes into view, Jules squeals, "Momma!" as she reaches for her mother.

"Hey, you!" Felicity greets, navigating the baby gate with practiced ease. "How's my Julie-bug? Did you have a good nap?" She takes Jules easily from Oliver, leaning in to kiss him softly. "And hey to you, too."

"Hi," Oliver says, rubbing his hand up and down her spine.

There's a dress bag draped over her arm and it's all Oliver can do to keep his eyes off of it. He flat-out fails. They're six months away from their wedding. They've booked a location and caterers and a florist. Invitations were sent long ago. There's no question they're well on their way to being married. They have been for years, really. But the sight of that bag over her arm, something so tangible _right there_ proving their wedding is just around the corner…

It absolutely thrills him.

"Sa' nigh-nigh," Jules informs her mother before putting a finger to her lips and making an exaggerated shushing sound.

"Oh!" Felicity says, eyes widening as she leans her head toward her daughter's. "Thank you for that. I guess I'd better be more quiet then, huh?"

Jules nods. It's painfully cute, this little moment between them, but Oliver is distracted by the dress bag.

"You found one," he notes.

Felicity smiles as Jules lays her head against her shoulder. "Two, actually."

Oliver's heart trips over itself as he blinks at her in surprise. She laughs lightly, which is proof enough on its own that he's expressing that look of surprise. "Because… you wanted a back up?" he ventures, fishing a bit.

"No," Felicity corrects, jostling Jules slightly against her hip. "One of them is way too little for me. But it just might fit a certain little Julie-bug." Jules lifts her head from her mother's collarbone at that, looking up with excited eyes. "Did you want to try on a pretty dress, baby girl?"

She squeals in response and claps her hands. Felicity laughs beautifully before giving her daughter a loud smack of a kiss on the cheek.

"How about we go get you changed and then you can show off for Daddy, okay?" she asks.

Jules nods, looking more than pleased at this idea as she says, "Yeah, yeah," in response. Oliver watches his girls head toward the bathroom, Felicity tossing him a wink over her shoulder.

He was wrong.

They're going to make him cry _way_ before the actual wedding.

His whole heart is in that bathroom with Felicity and Jules, but he busies himself by picking up a little more, putting the sparkly crayons back in their box, straightening up the pile of unused construction paper. It's distracting, knowing his little girl is dressing up like she will be for his wedding, and more than once he finds himself having to redo or re-pickup certain things.

It doesn't take long at all for the bathroom door to reopen, but it feels like forever. He vaults up from the floor and towards the bathroom.

"Ready?" Felicity asks, poking her head out and looking down the hall toward him.

"Yeah," he replies. "Yes." He fidgets, wiping his suddenly damp palms against his jeans. He swallows hard, emotion choking him as he keeps his eyes fixed on the entry to the bathroom. His eyes sting with unshed tears for a second, but he blinks them away. God, he hasn't even seen her yet and he's already about to lose it.

"Okay, baby girl," he hears Felicity say quietly. "Go show Daddy your dress. Walk slowly, okay? It's big and I don't want you to trip."

Oliver holds his breath as the moment stretches out, lengthening toward the infinite, practically stopping time as he waits.

All the air escapes his lungs in a sudden rush when his little girl carefully steps out of the bathroom. She holds up the bottom of her skirt as she ambles towards him, half-focused on not tripping and half-focused on his reaction.

His daughter is absolutely beautiful, so much it _hurts_. And she looks so grown up.

Oliver's knees go weak and his vision blurs as his eyes and throat both clog with tears.

The dress itself is red, a brilliant scarlet color that makes him think of pens and laptops with bullet holes and an IT girl who would prove to be the love of his life. The top part of the dress is an intricate ruby-red lace design with white beneath it. The bottom is the same brilliant color, but a soft, satiny looking fabric that bunches up a few times, giving it a waterfall effect.

Even objectively speaking, it's beautiful. But it's that his Julianna is the one wearing it that hits him hard. It feels like the dress was made specifically for her, setting off her naturally red lips and bright eyes against the rich fabric and the dark hue of her hair.

This is what his baby is going to be wearing when he marries her mother, when he finally makes Felicity his wife.

Just knowing that nearly bowls him over.

"Julie-bug," he croaks, crouching down to her level as she gets closer to him. "You look… so beautiful, sweetheart."

"I 'cess!" she declares when she reaches him, holding up the bottom of her skirt as she looks down at the dress.

"You are," he agrees, brushing her hair behind her ears. "You are a princess. Look at you."

She's so _big_. When did she get so big? How is she walking and talking already? How does she look like such a big girl? Every now and then, it floors him, makes him want to hold onto her in this moment and never let go.

"You like it?" Felicity asks. She's leaning against the wall at the start of the hallway. She's next to Ellie's pictures, her shoulder brushing the edge of one of the frames, but she's transfixed on the sight of her fiancée and daughter, a beatific grin on her face.

"It's perfect," he says. "This is…" He pauses, shaking his head as he strokes Jules' cheek in awe. "I can't imagine anything better."

He wishes the wedding were today. Right now. He absolutely cannot wait to make Felicity his wife. To see her and Jules walking toward him, to have William standing next to him, to cement their family in a new way… it's everything, and he can't _wait_.

"I'm glad." Felicity bites her lower lip as she smiles. "I had it made so it would compliment mine."

That tiny reveal has his heart thumping wildly and when he looks up at her, it goes even faster. He loves this woman so much. He loves his family so much. They are, by far, the very best part of his life. It's all happened in such a whirlwind and while it's had its stormy moments along the way, he wouldn't trade any part of it for anything.

Pulling Jules into his arms, the tulle underpinning of her skirt rustling as he moves, Oliver stands up and crosses over to his soon-to-be-wife. He cups her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. It starts simple and soft, but she's intoxicating and he deepens it.

Drinking from her lips solidifies something inside him - it grounds him, heightens everything, makes him hopeful. He'd never felt anything like that before her. He hadn't even known it really existed outside of childhood fairytales.

It's all still forming in front of him, these hazy outlines of his life, but the picture it's painting hints at everything he wouldn't have dared hope for even just a few years ago.

Felicity melts against him, Jules sandwiched between them, giggling as she squirms. He just holds onto her tighter, holds onto Felicity tighter, the frame of Ellie's picture pressing into his arm.

Life's not perfect, it never will be, but right now?

It's absolutely perfect for him.


	15. December 2015

**December 2015**

"Ho-ly frak."

There's a reason Felicity does most of her shopping online, and it's not just a love of technology and the time-saving aspect of it all. Even at the best of times the mall is a zoo, but the week before Christmas? It's an absolute _crush_ of people.

She clenches the little hand holding onto hers, more than a little afraid the child attached to it will disappear if she loosens her grip.

William makes no move to leave her side, though. He's looking around, taking it all in, but he's not overly distracted by animated reindeer or lavish storefronts with the shiniest and newest toys on full display. He sees it all, but that's it. Felicity's shopping experience is nothing like the poor woman across the way who keeps having to grab one of her kids by the collar to keep him still, or the man who is quickly reaching his frazzled quota as his six-year-old drags him to different stores.

No, Will's just… he's just so _good_. He's perfectly content at her side, never straying as he rambles on about the activity around them, being his typical goofy, good-hearted self. She couldn't have asked for a better almost-stepson.

It seems like there's a million reasons to love Will and Felicity discovers a new one every time she sees him. He's owned a piece of her heart from the instant she'd watched him hug Oliver for the first time, clinging like he never wanted to let go. But that'd been more surface-level. She hadn't known _him_ yet. She'd only known what he'd meant to Oliver, how much they'd both needed that connection.

Now, though, after a year and a half, she knows this little boy a whole lot better.

She knows he'll do anything to make his baby sister giggle, and that he's surprisingly attuned to how everyone around him is feeling. She knows he thinks of others first and is perpetually willing to sacrifice things he wants to do for the sake of anyone he cares about. She knows he stands up for littler kids on the playground and that his quirky, half-toothless smile can warm up a whole room.

He's accepted her so readily in his life, taking her in with the same ease he'd welcomed his dad. He was a little shyer at first, a little less certain about what to call her or how she fit in his life, but she couldn't have asked for a better transition for their family where William was concerned. He's just so _easy_.

"What about a Christmas sweater?" Will asks, tugging on her hand so she looks down at him. A huge grin lights up his face at that idea. He looks like a jack-o-lantern, three of his front teeth missing and the fourth so wiggly it might fall out at any moment.

"You want to get your dad a _Christmas sweater_?" Felicity asks, raising her eyebrows.

William nods. "One of the ones that light up." They stop mid-aisle and someone grumbles as they brush past - so much for the Christmas spirit - so they step to the side near the wall where they're slightly less in the way. "Maybe with bells on it."

"I…" Felicity tries not to laugh at that mental image and barely succeeds, choking out a cough to cover the sound. "I'm not sure that's exactly your dad's taste, kiddo."

"That just makes it funnier!" Will grins. "Can't you picture it? Imagine how much Julie-bug would love it."

She _would_. Her baby girl has just started running - _running_ , not walking; she skipped that stage entirely, it seems - but she'll stop for anything shiny or bright and flashing and just giggle, clapping her pudgy little hands in total delight. When Will had come over last night with a necklace that lit up like Christmas lights, Jules had been thrilled to be held by him for a solid hour and a half, just staring at them, smiling in adoration up at her big brother. Felicity never had a sibling, but she's incredibly grateful that her baby girl has a big brother like Will. There aren't a lot of seven-year-old boys who'd willingly entertain an infant for hours.

"I like where your head's at," Felicity decides with an approving nod, because the idea of Oliver in an ugly light-up Christmas sweater is something she definitely needs to see. "Maybe some reindeer antlers, too." Will gives an enthusiastic nod. "Good, it's decided then. But let's also get him a present for _him_ , too, because to be honest, bud, that one's gonna be for you, me and Jules."

Will huffs out a snort that's ridiculously reminiscent of his father. "True," he replies, his smile collapsing on one side into a smirk as he shrugs a shoulder. "It'd be awesome, but I want to get him something he'll _really_ like, too."

Felicity wonders where, exactly, one finds those horrific sweaters. JC Penney's, maybe? Sears? K-Mart? Etsy? She doesn't know, but she's going to find out because now that Will's brought it up, seeing Oliver's secretly amused face while he becomes the fittest, most attractive man ever to wear an ugly Christmas sweater needs to happen. She might get two for him - one that's for the kids and one just for her.

Yeah, that's definitely happening.

That still doesn't solve the current gift predicament, though.

"Any thoughts?" Felicity asks, trying not to wince as she looks down at William. The boy sighs, giving her a weighty look. Yeah, Oliver's hard to shop for. Forget the fact that he has a bazillion dollars, he just don't value _things_. Half a decade on a deserted island will do that to you.

"I think we've gotta wing it," William says.

The little boy purses his lips, casting a look around the bustling mall. It's pure worry and consternation, but it's barely there long enough for her to see. He's so easygoing that it slides off his features easily, but she still spies it. She knows how much this means to him. Last Christmas, he'd only just been getting to know his dad. He hadn't even stayed overnight until that December, but it'd still all been so fresh and new. He'd made his dad a vase that Christmas and while Oliver had loved it - he'd have loved anything at all from William - and it still sits on his desk at QC, she's sure that Will wants to find something more meaningful and personal this year.

"Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Felicity says, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and tugging him close. "We're like… shopping super sleuths. We'll get him the perfect present. It's hiding somewhere here, we just have to find it."

Will's whole face lights up again and just like that, he's filled with childish energy again.

"Can we get Jules a present, too?" he asks, his eyes bright and hopeful. The mere suggestion has her heart clenching with warmth and happiness.

"Of course we can," Felicity promises, squeezing his arm. "Do you know what you want to get her?"

"Books," William immediately replies. Cute as it is, that notion gives Felicity pause because her baby girl isn't even one yet. She's not much of a reader. In fact, Felicity's pretty sure Jules would shove a real book in her mouth, coating the pages in astounding amounts of drool.

"Uh…" Felicity says, wondering if there's a board book her baby _doesn't_ own and hasn't eaten.

"I want to get her Berenstain Bears so I can read it to her," William explains. "It's got a brother bear and a sister bear and they love each other lots. I wanna tell her stories about that so she knows how much I love her, too."

A torrent of emotion slams into her at that, nearly bowling her over. William stares up at her like it's obvious, like there's no question about this at all. It's overwhelming in the best way possible how amazing he is, how fast and how fully he's bonded with his half-sister.

When Felicity had first found out Oliver had a son… well, there'd been a lot going on at the time and she hadn't really had much of a chance to process it then. If she _had_ , she can't imagine she'd have been all that thrilled about it. They'd still been so new as a couple, and finding out the man she was in love with not only had a son he never knew about, but also that his mother had orchestrated the lies to keep them apart? It would have been a lot. It _had_ been a lot, but at the time, it'd been overshadowed by Ellie and then Jules. Despite how hard everything had been for a while there, she's grateful that it'd taken the shock value away from William's introduction. She's just so intensely grateful for his presence in their lives. Their family wouldn't feel right without him.

"That is an absolutely wonderful idea," Felicity says, her voice thick. "Come on, there's a bookstore up near the food court. We can hit that first and window shop along the way for your dad."

"Okay!"

The familiar chords of a song cut through the moment, making her shiver. It's barely audible over the rush of chatter and bustle of people, but it's there. She shudders every time she hears this damned song, like someone just walked over her grave.

"How about we get out of here," Felicity says, slipping her hand into his. They weave their way back into the throng of people, heading toward the door as she tries to block out the ever-present holiday music that's been playing for at least a month. "This song gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"It's Little Drummer Boy," William tells her slowly.

" _I know_ ," she groans as they spill into the main walkway of the mall. "Whatever happened to Silver Bells? Or Santa Baby? Er… you might be too young for that one."

Is he too young for that one? It's pretty suggestive, although she doesn't remember her little brain jumping to sex when she'd heard it at his age. She doesn't know.

This whole mom thing is taking a lot more getting used to than she'd anticipated.

William laughs, shaking his head. "It's a Christmas song, Felicity! Nobody's too young for those."

"Right," she breathes out. She's gonna go with that because it's easier. " _Anyhow_ … bookstore?"

"Yes!" William declares, easily redirected. "Onward!" He declares it with a dramatic gesture forward, nearly smacking the back of the old lady who's walking in front of them. William's mouth forms an alarmed 'o' shape as they slow to match the woman's actual snail pace. Felicity suppresses a chuckle and the two of them maneuver closer to the storefronts to bypass the slower stream of aimless walkers in their way.

On one hand, this is the least rushed Felicity's felt in a while.

Jules is at home with Oliver, so she doesn't have to worry about the timing of feedings and diaper changes and naps. Work's been quiet - both kinds. QC is always slower over the holidays and there's been a strange lull about the city lately. It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never does. There's typical gang violence and drug deals, but nothing much above the SCPD's capabilities. Not for a while, anyhow. It's actually been nice. They've needed a chance to breathe. Sara, Sin and Roy picking up the slack for Team Arrow after Jules and Little Sara had been born had been a huge blessing - a necessity, really - but with the girls getting a little older, it's been a relief to have the city relatively quiet as they ease back into their roles as protectors.

On the other hand, though, she's not exactly keen to spend her day bumming around the mall. She hadn't even enjoyed it as a teen and she definitely doesn't want to do it now.

"What about a nice shaving kit?" Will asks suddenly, snapping her attention back to the moment. "One of those old time ones with the brushes?"

"No," she says with a shake of her head, the words coming out before she can even think about it. "That's a hard veto." It would be difficult to describe how visceral a rejection she has to the idea of Oliver shaving. A trim, sure. But she's attached to his scruff, as well as the accompanying beard burn against her thighs. Not that she's about to tell her almost-stepson that, obviously. "What about something… baseball-y."

"Baseball-y?" Will asks with a little laugh, staring up at her with that jack-o-lantern smile of his. "That's not a word."

"It is, because I just said it," Felicity replies with a lofty lilt, a teasing smile in place. "And you knew what I meant."

"Sure," Will concedes, shaking his head. "I'm gonna tell my teacher you said that."

"Feel free to remind her that Shakespeare made up loads of words," Felicity advises. "So… baseball-y thoughts?"

"I don't know what it would be." Will chews his lip as they walk. "Like autographed cards or something? I don't know if he'd even like that."

She doesn't either and she once again internally bemoans that her fiance is the hardest person in the entire world to shop for ever. But they'll figure this out. They have to. It means too much to William to give up and she's not about to let the little boy down.

"Well…" she ventures as they round the corner, slipping through the doorway to the bookstore. "Maybe a book about baseball?"

The second she says it, she knows it's a lame suggestion. Will does, too. He kind of shrugs, clearly grateful for her efforts but not sold on the idea.

"Let's just get Jules the bear books and then we can work on something for Dad," William suggests.

"Fair enough," she agrees as they head back towards the kids' section.

Will's obviously familiar with this store because he knows exactly where to go to find the books in question. He's a strong reader for his age, even if he's more interested in things like sports and video games, and she finds herself wondering how often he's here with his mom. Probably a lot, she realizes as he waves to a cashier who seems to recognize him. Uprooting their lives and moving to Starling City had been a big change for William and Samantha - even if it had made the every-other-weekend custody arrangement a lot easier for everyone involved - and this bookstore chain is always laid out the same way. A bit of familiar normalcy had to be a good thing for William in the midst of moving and adjusting to his rapidly expanding family.

"Got it!" Will tells her triumphantly, holding up a box set of books with so much delight that it has Felicity grinning right along with him. He can barely lift the box and she wonders if he's picked up the entire series. Not that it matters. It's not like she's going to tell him he _can't_ buy his little sister books. He could insist on getting her the entire kids' section if he asked, to be honest, and Felicity might just agree to keep seeing that toothless grin of his.

She walks over, taking the box from his hands. It's heavy, enough that she lets out a small, " _Oomph,"_ as she looks at the pictures on the back of a cheery bear family complete with cartoon-like cub siblings. She vaguely remembers this series from her own childhood. Felicity runs her fingers over the drawings - she definitely remembers liking them, and that William wants to get these for Jules makes her love them.

"It's perfect," Felicity says.

Will's so pleased with himself. It's too cute for words.

They pay quickly - the line's shorter here than most stores - and she makes note of the way Will's eyes linger on some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles paperbacks near the register. She'll have to order those online for him later.

"So… where to now, kiddo?" she asks, taking his little hand in hers as she hefts the bag of books over her shoulder.

They head back out into the mall, but Will stops unexpectedly the moment they're out the door, drawing her surprised attention toward him.

That jack-o-lantern smile she's enjoyed so much this afternoon is nowhere to be seen and in its place is a wistful look that feels out of place.

"Hey…" she ventures, tugging on his hand. "What's up?" She tries to follow his line of sight, but all she sees is ridiculously over-the-top Christmas decorations.

"Nothing," William replies, shaking off his obvious disappointment and offering up a far more muted smile than earlier. "It's nothing."

"Why don't I believe that?" she challenges, giving him the 'mom' look she's been trying to perfect for the last year or so. She must finally be making progress because he squirms a bit under her gaze and sighs.

"It's just… Santa's over there," he admits, unconvincingly acting like this isn't a big deal to him. "It's fine. We need to find a present for my dad."

"You went to see Santa with your mom last weekend, didn't you?" Felicity asks. "She said you were going to."

"We were," Will says. "But the line was too long. It's okay. I'm not a baby. I don't need to see him anymore. I can just write him a letter."

For someone who never even celebrated Christmas growing up, Felicity finds the notion of her stepson missing out on Santa completely unacceptable. It's sort of amazing how much the idea bothers her.

"Just… hang on a minute," she tells him, noting that the line really isn't that long right now. She shuffles the bag on her shoulder to pull out her cell phone, shooting off a quick text. Luckily, the response comes quickly and she smiles as she pockets her phone again. "You figured out what you're asking Santa for this Christmas?" she asks, looking down at Will.

"I have a few ideas," he replies. "Why?"

"Because you're going to need to tell him in a few minutes," she advises with a soft, pleased grin. She hadn't been sure how Samantha would take the request - she'd probably wanted to take her son herself - but everyone wants what's best for Will and this is the best chance he's going to have to see Santa this year. And it helps that the line is just a few kids long at the moment.

"Really?" Will asks, eyes widening incredulously. He practically buzzes with excitement and Felicity wishes she'd kept her phone handy to snap a photo for both Oliver and Samantha. But, in other ways, it's sort of nice that it's just them. It's a bonding moment between her and William, and she's grateful for that.

"Really," she confirms, tugging his hand as they weed through the crowd like a lifesize game of Frogger, heading for the line to see Santa. They reach him in no time, the excitement at seeing the large man in a red suit making the push of people around them not quite as daunting.

When they settle in line, Will throws himself at her leg in a giant hug as he says, "Thank you, Felicity!"

She laughs, hugging him back as an elf comes up with an iPad in hand and a cheery grin on her green-painted lips.

"Well, aren't you just the cutest," the elf pronounces, leaning down to meet Will's eyes. "That's a sweet hug for mom."

"Oh, I'm not his-" Felicity starts, but Will cuts her off.

"Felicity's my stepmom and she's awesome," Will announces.

"You're a lucky boy then," the elf nods. It's a little patronizing, the day in and day out faux-Christmas cheer obviously getting to the poor elf this late in the holiday season, but William doesn't pick up on it. He just echoes, "Yup!" and leans his head against Felicity with a comfortable ease that serves as a vivid reminder of how far their family has come, how much it's grown in this past year.

"What sort of package were you two thinking about then?" the elf asks, standing up fully, clearly talking to Felicity now. She punches a few buttons on the iPad. "You can just visit Santa, if you'd like, of course, but we also offer all kinds of photo packages and memorabilia. We have mugs and mousepads and ornaments."

"Um…" Felicity says, glancing at the iPad's options. "We'll take the digital package." She can't possibly get herself to pay for the prints when she can just have the file.

"That all?" the elf prods. "We have a new option to have it printed out on your very own stocking."

"I have a stocking," Will interrupts, looking at the elf with suspicion. "Santa should know that."

"Well of course he does, silly." The elf laughs nervously. "It'll just be five to ten minutes, okay?" She hands Will a candy cane and wanders off before either Felicity or William have a chance to respond.

The seven-year-old doesn't bother with his candy, though, stuffing it in his pocket and craning his neck to look around the family in front of them in search of Santa. He's painfully excited and Felicity suddenly wishes Jules were here, too. It would be so cute to have a shot of Will holding his baby sister while they sit on Santa's lap. Next year, she decides. She'll do that next year, when Julie's old enough to be wide-eyed with excitement about the whole thing. Even with the frenzy that will undoubtedly surround the wedding, she'll find time to take the kids to do that.

"You're coming with me, right?" Will asks, tugging on her hand, pulling her back to the present.

"What?" she questions, blinking at him in surprise.

"To see Santa," Will clarifies, as if he could have meant anything else. "You've got to. You need to tell him what you want, too."

"Uh, well…"

Felicity bites her tongue rather than point out she's Jewish. While he _knows_ that, religion is still a weird thing to navigate and she doesn't want to get into details without talking to Samantha first. That's really something she should have anticipated, now that she thinks about it. She'll call Samantha tonight after Will's in bed.

Sometimes it feels like they parent him by committee. It's taken time to find balance, but she, Oliver, and Samantha all agree that William's best interests are the most important thing. Presenting a unified and supportive presence for him is both a necessity and a priority for all of them.

The line moves and they step up, now at the front of the line. "I don't see any parents sitting on Santa's lap, Will."

"Maybe they aren't on the nice list," Will suggests.

She fights a laugh and fails, bending down to kiss him atop his unruly mop of hair.

"Maybe not," Felicity agrees. "Maybe I'm not either. Did you ever think of that?" It's meant to be a joke, but the concern that covers his face tells her it doesn't come across that way. He gives her a serious frown and she quickly adds, "It's fine, Will. Santa doesn't bring me presents. I don't need to be in the picture." He hums in what she takes to be agreement, but stays uncharacteristically quiet. Felicity brushes his hair back in an effort to get him to look up at her again. "Will, I-"

"Hey now, little man!" the elf says in her overly chipper tone as she returns. "Santa's ready for you!"

For the first time since seeing the holiday display, William actually looks a little nervous. He hesitates, his grip on her tightening minutely. Felicity wants to stop time to pull him aside and make sure he's okay, but then he's nodding, letting out a steadying breath and stepping forward, right toward the white-bearded man in an oversized throne-like red velvet chair.

It's ridiculously over the top and is probably intimidating to plenty of kids, but William walks right up to him. He politely nods at the strikingly convincing Santa, but instead of stepping up to sit on his knee, Will stands toe-to-toe with him and looks him in the eye.

"Mr. Claus, sir," he says and Felicity wonders what in the hell he's doing, exactly. "I know I'm supposed to ask for a present, but you can't really wrap what it is that I want."

"Well then, I suppose we'd better hear what it is, shouldn't we?" the Santa asks, leaning forward conspiratorially, focusing wholly on William as he rests his bearded chin against the palm of his hand.

"Yes, sir," William agrees. "I need you to put Felicity on the nice list." Felicity freezes, because… _what_? But William isn't done. "She's the best stepmom in the whole world ever and she said you don't bring her things and that's not right. So you don't have to bring me any presents this year, if you'll just put her on the nice list. I think you made a mistake by not putting her there, but she can have my spot."

It's the most innocent, most selfless and earnest thing that Felicity's ever heard in her entire life. She doesn't realize her hand is moving until it's pressed against her mouth with shaking fingers as her eyes water up. She knows people are looking. There's a quiet, " _Awww,_ " from a parent in line and the weight of Santa and his elf's eyes sit heavily against her skin. She doesn't notice, or care, really. All her attention is on her stepson.

"Will, honey," she manages, her voice cracking. She stops to clear her throat, but Will is a boy on a mission and he's not about to let this go.

"It's not right," Will insists again, meeting her eye for a moment before turning his pleading gaze to Santa. "I'm sorry, sir, but your list is wrong. If anybody deserves to be on the nice list, it's Felicity."

Santa's eyes twinkle - which is ridiculous and cliche as hell, but maybe that was a job requirement for the role - and the bearded man obviously enjoys the part he plays. His smile looks genuinely touched and honestly affectionate as he rests a gloved hand on Will's shoulder.

"It's very clear to me, young William, that you love your stepmother very much," Santa tells him.

"I do," William says. "And she loves me, too. She didn't have to. My friend Marcus' stepmom doesn't even _like_ him. But right away Felicity always acted like I belonged, like she needed me in her family."

"Oh, Will," Felicity chokes out. She walks toward him mindlessly, her feet acting of their own accord. She pulls him into her arms, kissing the mop of light brown hair atop his head. "You do belong. You've always belonged and I _do_ need you in my family."

It's meant to be bolstering, but Will takes it as further evidence of his point. "See?" he asks, looking back at Santa. "She's very nice. The nicest, even! I think maybe your elves have just seen too many Disney movies. Stepmoms aren't always like that."

That Santa manages to keep a straight face and nod in agreement after that statement is a true testament to the man's acting abilities. Felicity isn't sure she could have managed it, were she in his boots.

"She is," Santa agrees. "And it's quite clear that you're very lucky to have each other. But my lists are for children, Will. My brand of Christmas magic is meant for girls and boys like you who believe in both the power of goodness and imagination."

"Also not so much for Jews," Felicity mutters under her breath. Santa hears her, though. His eyes meet hers briefly - that same twinkle is still there, how is he doing that? - but it bypasses Will completely.

"But you always bring my mom something," the boy notes stubbornly.

Felicity's not positive, but she thinks Santa's probably groaning internally just like she is. She _really_ needs to talk to Samantha and Oliver about this whole holiday thing because it's clear they need to all get on the same page about a few things. But for now, it's obvious Will isn't going to give up and she's not about to ruin his day by putting her foot down when all he wants is for her to get a present.

Santa meets her eyes over WIll's head, an unspoken question clear in them, and she immediately nods in agreement.

"Well then," Santa says, "I suppose I have made an oversight, haven't I?"

"So Felicity gets a present this year?" William asks, perking up, sending his impending victory.

"I'm pretty sure I can manage something," Santa says with a quick wink.

Will gives a little fist pump of victory - proof of just how much she's influenced her almost-stepson's life in this past year and a half - before diving in to hug the Santa. The old man chuckles - he _chuckles_ … it's all very appropriately jolly - and pats him atop his head as William mutters a heartfelt, " _Thank you_."

"Oh, you're very welcome, Will," Santa tells him quietly. "It always a gift to see the sort of selflessness and good-heartedness you just showed me. I dare say it's the very best part of my job."

Felicity believes him. It's clear that this man relishes his role of Santa and that this is precisely why. For all the demands he must hear, for all the sobbing toddlers and infants with dirty diapers that get passed off to him for a quick photo, he also sometimes - _sometimes_ \- gets moments like this.

"You have a better grip on the spirit of Christmas than most, Will," Santa continues, patting his knee. "Now how about you have a seat, tell me what you'd like for your present and we'll snap a photo?"

Will smiles and climbs up on Santa's lap. Maybe Felicity should step back a few paces, give them some space like most of the parents ahead of them in line had done, but she feels like she's been drawn into this experience at this point and she doesn't want to leave it.

"I'd like one of those bubble machines that makes like eleventy-billion bubbles," Will informs him.

"That's a lot of bubbles!" Santa declares in faux astonishment.

"It _is_ ," Will nods. "I saw it on tv and it looks super cool and I know my little sister would like it, too."

She would. Bubbles are second only to things she can chew on, as far as Jules' favorite things go.

"Jules will clap and giggle and it'll be _the best_ ," Will continues.

"Is this for you or for your sister?" Santa asks knowingly.

"Santa…" Will sighs, "it's for both. Nothing's more fun than making other people happy, _especially_ my little sister. She has the best laugh ever and it makes me feel happy, too."

This statement is, to Felicity's mind, her stepson in a nutshell. He's such a kind, sweet, selfless boy and he will do just about anything to make the people he loves laugh. He gets so much joy out of things like playing peek-a-boo with Jules or hamming it up for his dad. Discovering that about him - watching as he slowly acclimated to the changes in his family and opened up this side of himself - has been an absolute privilege to watch.

"I think those are the very best sort of presents," Santa says. "I'll see what I can do."

"Felicity," Will says, looking her way. "What do you want to ask Santa for?"

Her immediate response is a flustered, "Uh…" because this is something she's not given any thought to at all. Not even a little. But Will misreads her hesitance.

"Don't worry," William tells her. "You don't have to sit on Santa's lap, too. I'm sure you can just tell him."

Wouldn't _that_ have made for an interesting Christmas picture to bring home. The thought of Oliver's reaction _alone_...

"I… I would like…" Felicity starts, dragging out the words to buy herself time to find an answer. She's about to say ' _a surprise'_ \- which is ridiculous because she hates surprises - when the right answer hits her. "I'd like tickets to do something together as a family, because I like spending time with you and I like seeing you and Julie-bug happy, too."

She knows Santa is looking at her, but her attention is on William, who's smiling that broad, toothless grin of his with so much delight that it feels contagious. She's already coming up with ideas - the children's museum where Jules can mess around in the infant sensory area while Will puts on a play to entertain her; a ballgame where Will's excitement about the sport spills over to Jules, who won't understand a thing but will look adorable in the smallest jersey in existence; the state fair where Will can squeeze into a roller coaster cart with his dad before riding on a pony with his little sister… Okay, maybe Jules is a little young for that last one, but the possibilities stretch out in front of her and she _wants_ them. She wants all of them.

"Can Felicity be in the picture, too?" Will asks, looking up at Santa. "Please? My dad will like it even better if she's in it, too. They're very mushy."

Santa doesn't even try not to laugh at that one. He gestures for Felicity to join them. It's kind of weird. She's not sure exactly what she's supposed to do, how she's supposed to pose, but Will is right - Oliver will love a picture of them with Santa. Samantha, however, probably would prefer one without.

"I'll order a set with me and a set without, okay?" Felicity asks, glancing toward the elf who apparently pulls double-duty as a photographer. The green-lipped, pointy-eared girl nods. "I'm sure your mom would rather have pictures with just you," she adds, looking down at Will.

He shrugs, but he doesn't contradict her and before Felicity knows it, Santa's resting an arm around her shoulder and she's leaning against his throne-like chair as an elf snaps pictures. She could not have imagined how this shopping trip would go when they set out this morning, but she also wouldn't change a single thing if she could.

The pictures are done quickly - they've already spent more time than most with Santa and the line behind them is growing a touch restless - but as they go to step away, Santa grabs Felicity's elbow and she pauses to look back at him.

"You have a wonderful little boy there and a beautiful family," he tells her.

"Thank you," she tells him, looking over to where William stands with the elf, unwrapping a candy cane. "And thank you for being so good with Will."

"My dear, it was a joy," Santa says, taking her hand. "Happy Hannukah."

"Merry Christmas, Santa," she smiles, squeezing his fingers before letting go and making her way over to Will, wrapping an arm around the boy and pulling him close. "You, my friend, are the very best almost-stepson in the whole world, you know that?"

"Yeah," Will says with a chipper, off-handed tone, his speech slightly impaired by the candy cane he's sucking on. "I'm pretty great. Can we get the Christmas ornament, too? They print your picture on it, see?"

She looks toward where he's pointing and, indeed, there's a ridiculous number of things you can buy with your picture with Santa printed on it. Does anyone _really_ need a ballcap with that on it? She thinks not. But of all the money-making chachkies they're pushing, the ornament is by far the most appropriate and she actually thinks it's kind of fun.

"Yeah," she agrees. The elf nods nearby and punches something into her iPad. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

She picks up the display ornament. It's clear other than the photo printed on it and it occurs to her very suddenly what Will needs to give Oliver for Christmas.

There isn't anything material that anyone can buy for Oliver Queen that he can't buy for himself. There isn't anything he _wants_ that they can give him. Except this. Except his family. Except moments together.

"Will, let's pick up some tickets to a Rockets game for the whole family as a gift to your dad," Felicity suggest. "We can put it inside the ornament and wrap that for him."

The way Will's whole face lights up at that idea tells her she's hit on the perfect idea.

"Really?" he asks. "Really, really? That's a _great_ idea! And you'll come, too? And Jules?"

"Yeah," Felicity agrees. "That's the present, kiddo, a fun thing to do together for our whole family."

She's known for the last year that Will gives the best hugs in the world, but they never get old and she's amazingly happy to have this little boy's arms wrapped tightly around her. There is no gift in the world that can compare with how much her family means to her and she's absolutely certain that there never will be.


	16. May 2034

**May 2034**

"Oliver!"

Felicity shuts the heavy drapes to block out the afternoon sun, leaving nothing but the dim glow of the television and the distant illumination from the stairwell. She checks the edges, getting an eyeful of a sharp sunray. With a quiet, "Gah," she cuts off the last remnants of sun trying to sneak through before turning back to the living room.

She blinks, making out little more than the outlines of her kids as they pile on the sofa.

It's perfect for family movie time.

They're just missing one key element.

Felicity angles her head towards the stairs, raising her voice louder as she yells, "Oliver!" again. Where _is_ he up there, or did he crawl into the far recesses of Jules' room?

"Coming!" her husband calls back. His voice is tiny where it wafts from the top floor. His footfalls thud on the stairs, getting louder as he gets closer.

Felicity catches a glimpse of him, but he doesn't head to the family room, continuing down the stairs to the floor below. "Wrong way, honey," she calls after him as she grabs the remote. She vaguely sees him waving his hand at her before she rounds the sofa to join the kids. Her eyes are still adjusting to the low-light, so she misses Nate grabbing some of Jules' popcorn. It's too late to warn him, though - he's already got it shoved in his mouth by the time the movement registers.

He should really know better by now. He's eleven and he's been burned before.

"Oh my _god_ ," Nate says, pulling a face and scrambling for a glass of the lemonade Felicity had brought up. "What did you _do_ to that popcorn?"

"Serves you right for stealing some," Jules replies, all nonchalance as she pulls the bowl closer to herself while Nate takes a few heavy gulps. "Get your own."

"It's cayenne pepper," Ellie informs him, grabbing a kernel from her own bowl where it's perched precariously on her knees and popping it into her mouth. "And mine's covered in blue cheese, so don't even think about it."

"Why would you even do that to popcorn?" Nate demands.

"Says the boy who insists on caramel corn?" a deep voice adds. Oliver appears a second later, carrying two bowls of popcorn. He passes one to Nate who promptly takes a handful and shoves it in his mouth in an attempt to drown out the wicked spiciness of his sister's cayenne-doused snack.

Felicity wonders if it even tastes sweet after the lemonade he just inhaled.

Oliver crosses over to her, handing her a bowl of normal buttered popcorn - it's _classic_ \- with a soft, "Here."

Felicity takes the bowl from her husband with a grateful smile. "Any word from William?"

"He'll be by later," Oliver replies, his now-empty hands finding her hips with practiced ease. He gives her a quick kiss before adding, "He was on shift until this morning. He wanted to take a nap before he came by."

"I thought he didn't work yesterday," Felicity says as Oliver sits down in the oversized side chair. She moves to plop down on the floor - she's not about to deal with squeezing into the little space left on the sofa - but her husband has other ideas. Oliver grabs her hips again and pulls her back onto his lap without warning. Felicity yelps in surprise - "Oliver!" - nearly upending the bowl, but his hold on her is solid as he cuddles her close. "You're going to make me spill the popcorn!"

Oliver's grin is blinding as he smiles up at her. She rolls her eyes, settling in as he grabs a few pieces of said almost-spilled popcorn. He pops them into his mouth before gripping her chin, pulling her lips to his. His fingers are warms and his lips are buttery and the combination makes her melt. Felicity sighs, savoring the press of his mouth to hers, and presses closer, her tongue darting out to taste just a little bit more.

"Ugh," Nate says, wrinkling his nose. "You're gonna make me gag on my popcorn."

Jules snorts. "So, that's something to add to the list of things you should have grown to expect by now, then, right?" Felicity can't see her oldest clearly in the low light, but she has no doubt her daughter's raising a speculative eyebrow at the boy.

"He changed his schedule," Oliver tells Felicity, drawing her attention back to him as he answers her earlier question. "One of his roommates worked a rough day earlier in the week. Bad crash. They lost a kid the same age as the guy's little sister. Will offered to trade shifts and give him a few extra days off. It sounded like he needed it."

Felicity's heart sinks at that, a wash of sympathy running through her. "Will's okay though?" she asks.

"Yeah," Oliver confirms, kissing her temple. "He wasn't even working that day."

The harshness of reality is too clear for all of her children. It's been such a struggle at times to balance doing what's right - what's _necessary_ \- while mitigating the occasional awfulness of reality for their kids. They haven't done nearly as well as she would have liked. When she looks back, she sees so many mistakes they've made over the years, so many things she'd do differently, situations she'd avoid entirely if she could. But hindsight is 20/20 and life is a learning process. Or so she tells herself. Logic and her desire to make the world a better place for her kids at nearly any cost don't always go hand-in-hand.

Still, all-in-all, they've raised four amazing children.

Will's a hero in his own right, these days. It's more of an everyday kind of way than his father, but no less important. She's loved that boy since the day she met him, but she's not sure she's ever been as proud of him as she was the day he came home from a camping trip and told her he'd decided to be a firefighter. He's a good boy, her stepson. A good _man_ \- he is 26. The sense of accomplishment she gets out of knowing she's had a part in helping him grow to be the amazing person he's become is no less than what she feels for any of the children she bore herself.

"Are we watching this movie or what?" Ellie asks, tossing her a look.

"What?" Oliver deadpans.

Felicity smacks him on the chest as Jules groans, throwing a piece of popcorn at her father, payback for the horrid joke. Ellie snickers and Nate scoffs, but Oliver just catches the popcorn and eats it. He doesn't blink at the cayenne, sharing the same affinity for spice as his daughter.

This is exactly why she'd lobbied for movie time, why she _keeps_ pushing for dinners with all of them, and family outings that have nothing to do with politics or business or vigilantism.

After everything that happened on that earth-shattering day two years ago, after all the setbacks they'd suffered with Jules and the problems that'd started with Ellie because of it, Felicity's insisted more and more that they need to spend time together. All six of them. They _need_ this. _She_ needs this. She needs Jules to regain that sense of confidence she'd finally grown into. She needs Ellie to see there's more to the world than just fighting the monsters that lurk in the shadows. She needs Nate to see his sisters are whole and safe. Scars from that day linger - she glances at the silvery line running down Ellie's neck; some are more visible than others - but they're healing.

She won't allow them not to.

"Come on!" Ellie says, a cheer that Nate adds to.

"All right, all right," Oliver says. He takes the remote from Felicity's hand and cues up the movie, oblivious to her inner monologue.

It's an old movie, but she thinks the kids will like it, despite its age.

They're certainly settled in for the long haul.

Jules is spread out like she owns the entire sofa, one arm draped across the back while her other hand scratches at Buster's head where he sits dutifully at her feet, graying muzzle resting on her knee. Nate's on the other end, feet folded beneath himself, back ramrod straight as he watches the screen with a comical amount of seriousness etched into his features. Ellie's between them, her feet wedged under her brother's thigh. She takes a deep breath, snuggling deeper into the sofa before leaning her head against her sister's shoulder.

After a second, Jules leans back, resting her cheek on Ellie's head.

Tears burn Felicity's eyes. They're closer now, her girls. _Thank God_. It had been so bad there for a while. Last fall had been… Her lungs tighten. She doesn't even want to think about it now. And she doesn't have to - not in a way that lingers, anyhow - because it's not true anymore.

Ellie and Jules are maybe the closest they've ever been right now.

Felicity wonders if anyone would notice her getting up to take a picture.

"Your feet are like icicles, Ellie," Nate protests, pushing at his sister's legs. She just digs her toes in more, sticking her tongue out at Nate as she intentionally annoys her little brother. "Ellie!" he whines.

Felicity sits up to tell Ellie to keep her feet to herself, but she doesn't have to.

"Hush it and eat your popcorn," Jules interrupts. "You're missing the movie." Her eyes don't waver from the screen, clearly expecting Nate to listen, and he does. With a resigned sigh, they all settle in to watch the movie.

It doesn't last long.

"Why are we even watching this?" Nate asks. "Isn't this ancient? It's in _2-D_."

"The reboot comes out in, like, a week," Ellie tells him.

"Plus, it'll be fun to watch Dad rub his fingers together in frustration throughout the whole thing," Jules notes in a singsong voice, dragging out the word 'whole' as she smiles at her father.

She's not wrong.

"Have you seen this?" Felicity asks her oldest.

"No," Jules replies. "It's older than hell."

"Jules," Oliver warns, his voice heavy, but Jules keeps going.

"But I did see the commercials for the new one and no _way_ is Dad gonna cope with some actor shooting a bow and arrow like that."

"They're physically impossible shots," Oliver interjects, unable to resist. The frustration in his voice is very real and more than a little funny. "How am I supposed to take that seriously? Is a little authenticity too much to ask for?"

"Honey," Felicity says, "it's a movie about two human science experiments, a spy, a billionaire in a flying suit, an archer and an alien god fighting the alien god's evil brother and his army for the fate of the world." She blinks up at her husband. "You're worried about _authenticity_?"

"You say that like none of those things are possible," he replies, raising his eyebrows as he looks down at her. "We both know better."

"Yeah," Felicity hedges, waving at the screen, "but none of them were that pretty. That right there screams 'entertainment' more than documentary."

Oliver levels her with a dry look, to which she smiles in return.

"I like how we watch a movie and spend the entire time talking about it," Jules says, twisting one of her sister's curls around her finger.

"We're more fun," Ellie replies, resting her chin on her sister's shoulder and looking up at her.

"With colder feet," Nate adds, not looking away from the television. Ellie snickers and wiggles her toes. Nate pulls a sour look, earning a broad, toothy smile from Jules.

It'd be so easy to tell them to be quiet and watch the movie, but Felicity doesn't dare, and neither does Oliver. Her husband rubs his hand up and down her back, the tips of his fingers dancing against her arm, and she knows he's watching their kids and not the movie as he eats their popcorn.

There's a peace in this easygoing moment that they know better than to take for granted. They've fought for this, refused to fail their family day in and day out for years. It hasn't always been easy, but it has always, _always_ been worth it.

Oliver sighs against her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. It's contentment he's breathing out against her, a bone-deep a sense of calm and fulfillment he would never have expected to find in his life, if asked twenty years ago. But they are each other's allies in every sense of the word, a team in all the ways that matter, and they have fought - continue to fight - for each other, for their family and for their city.

Because it's worth it.

They can't win every battle, though, something that's sharply evident when Oliver tenses up and holds her more tightly. On screen, a complex of buildings the size of a small town gets swallowed by the earth. It's far too reminiscent of the Undertaking and Felicity knows he's bracing himself against those memories. They don't haunt him as frequently as they used to, but their failures - especially that one - still sit heavily on Oliver's shoulders.

Felicity splays her hand over his chest, rubbing a small comforting circle over his heart. It soothes him, just enough for him to relax, to turn into her, to let her share the burden that won't ever fully go away.

She'd expected him to suggest they name Nate after Tommy, when their son had been born. They weren't beholden to the names the other timeline's version of themselves had chosen for their kids, after all. But when their son had come into the world, when Oliver had cradled the newborn in his arms for the first time, the baby blinking up at him with surprising alertness, Oliver had greeted him with a soft, "Hey there, Nate. How's my little man?"

And just like that he'd been Nate.

She'd been the one to insist his middle name be Thomas.

" _Yeah. Yeah, that's perfect."_

One of her favorite memories is of her son - not even an hour old and completely dwarfed in the security of his father's arms - as Oliver looked down at him with teary-eyed joy. As clear as it is in her mind's eye, watching her not-quite-teenage son dodge a piece of popcorn thrown by one of his sisters, it feels like forever ago.

He's gotten so big.

They all have.

Never is that more evident than when Ellie suddenly shifts uncomfortably. She pulls away from her siblings, chewing her lip as she glances bashfully toward the television. For a second, Felicity doesn't get it. She looks at the screen with a furrowed brow, but then it clicks - for both Felicity _and_ Jules.

"So, _she's_ cute, huh?" Jules asks, elbowing her sister. It's good-natured, or it's meant to be. But even if Felicity hadn't seen her middle child stiffen, her face blazing red even in the dim light as she stares down at her knees, Felicity knows she's still uncomfortable about being called out on being attracted to anyone.

As Ellie shrugs a little, Felicity says warningly, "Julie."

"What?" Jules asks, completely oblivious. Or maybe willful ignorance is more accurate. Her approach to everything lately seems to be making herself as bold and brash as possible, spoiling for a fight should anyone call her out. Felicity can't even imagine her blushing and avoiding eye contact. "She's not _wrong_. Natasha is, like, super hot."

"She's a good fighter," Ellie mumbles, not looking at anyone.

"She is," Oliver chimes in, casting Jules a weighty look.

Jules might think she gets what's going on with Ellie, she might even think she's being supportive, but she doesn't really get that Ellie isn't comfortable talking about this yet. She's never walked in Ellie's shoes, never grappled with her own sexuality, and the sisters are very different people with vastly different ways of dealing with their own discomfort.

The nineteen-year-old rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something - Felicity's ready to cut her off - but another presence in the room quickly shifts the dynamics.

William steps up behind the sofa, saying, "I'd kinda love to see her fight Big Sara, myself," as he tugs on Jules' dark-haired ponytail, making the girl yelp.

"Jerk!" she proclaims affectionately, slapping at his hand as her dog gets up and rounds the sofa to greet Will. He whines and butts his greying muzzle against the man's hand.

"Glad to see you, too, kid," Will counters Jules as he scratches the dog's chin. Jules huffs in feigned annoyance at the name as Will drops a kiss on the top of Ellie's head and claps Nate on the shoulder before looking at his stepmom. "Felicity, I tossed some laundry in the washer. I hope that's okay."

"Of course," Felicity replies. She's always loved this kid - he's such an easy person to love - but she's even more appreciative of him when he so easily and single-handedly reroutes Jules.

The smile he gives her is all warmth and gratitude - it's so _Will_ \- and it makes Felicity smile in return as he says, "Thanks." And then, before anyone can protest, he hops over the back of the sofa and squeezes in between Ellie and Nate, much to the chagrin of his younger siblings. Will's not too tall, but he's still a grown man and he's both well-muscled and stocky. It's a _very_ full sofa, and while everyone grouses, none of them are really complaining. "Our laundry room was kind of overwhelmed. Elliot was procrastinating as always and then Javi and I were both on last night working that fire at the docks. Everything reeks of smoke back home."

"I was out there, too," Oliver tells him, ignoring the movie in favor of his oldest son. "On the wharf."

"I didn't see you, but I thought you might have been," Will replies. "After we realized it was a drug lab that went up in smoke, it seemed very much up your alley. You get the guy?"

"Yeah." Oliver nods. "Dropped him off with SCPD. They've got more than enough evidence to lock him up for ten-to-twenty, at least."

" _Good_ ," Will says, his voice lowering, his face becoming more grave as he stares blindly at the television. Felicity wonders just how bad the fire had been. It's a rare day that Will isn't an easy-going jokester. But she doesn't ask about it, not right now, not with the other kids here and Will doesn't immediately volunteer anything.

Jules, on the other hand, does not have the same approach as her mother.

"Why?" she asks, concern furrowing her brow. "What happened?"

"It's…" Will falters, giving a strained half-smile as he shakes his head. "Tessa had a beam fall on her."

Oliver sits up taller. "Is she okay?"

"She will be," Will confirms. "Broken leg and some second-degree burns on her left arm. I'm gonna run by the hospital later and babysit her twins to give her husband a break."

"Need any help?" Ellie offers immediately.

"Sure," Will agrees, tugging his little sister closer. "You can change the diapers."

"Ugh," Ellie says, wrinkling her nose, but she doesn't change her mind. "Fine. But you get to clean the spit-up."

"Deal," Will proclaims, grabbing her hand and shaking it firmly.

Felicity sort of forgets they're watching a movie, despite how loud it is, until Nate speaks up.

"I really like this Pepper person," he says. "But I don't understand why she's with Tony. He's kind of a jerk."

" _You'd_ probably rather she was dating Coulson," Jules declares, offering some popcorn to Will. He knows better, though, stealing some of Nate's instead.

"Coulson is the best character in this movie so far," Nate insists. And, oh, her little boy would think that, wouldn't he? "He has more sense than everyone else put together and he's trying to do the right thing. I like him."

"Of _course_ you like him," Jules scoffs. "You basically _are_ him."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Nate informs her, holding his chin up in quiet defiance.

"Suit yourself," Jules says, shrugging one shoulder.

"Look, Coulson is great and all, but nobody beats Captain America," Ellie announces, looking back and forth between her siblings.

"Remind me not to show her the sequels," Oliver mutters in Felicity's ear, his fingers stroking along her forearm as she leans her head against his chest. She's not watching the movie. Not really. Her kids are far more interesting.

"He fights with a shield," Jules tells Ellie. "Like, points for how he throws it and all, but that's a terrible weapon."

"It's protective," Ellie counters. "Because that's who he is. He's there to protect people."

"Sometimes the best defense is a good offense," Jules replies. "And, sorry, but a shield is the worst weapon ever."

"It's not the weapon that matters," Oliver pipes up. "It's the person fighting with it. Anything can be a weapon if you wield it right."

Jules sighs. She can be so dramatic sometimes… most of the time. "Obviously. But, come on, Dad, you can't tell me a shield beats guns or a bow and arrow or _actual lasers_ that you shoot out of your hands."

"You _would_ side with Iron Man," Ellie proclaims, shaking her head at Jules.

"Uh, cause he's badass," Jules tells her. "He flies and shoots lasers. Tell me again how a shield compares to that."

"Well, I like the shield," Ellie declares. "I think it's awesome. And incredibly useful when it reflects laser beams back at people who underestimate it."

Jules plasters on a smile, staring at her sister. "You're infuriating."

"I aim to please," Ellie counters with an identical grin.

Nate breaks through the moment when he looks up at Will and asks, "Which one's your favorite?"

"I'm not sure," Will muses. "Do I have to have a favorite?"

"Yes," Jules says at the same moment that Ellie says, "No."

Will chuckles. After a moment, he says, "I like them when they're a team. I think they bring out the best in each other."

It's an answer that makes her husband damn near preen with 's a grudging agreement between the kids after that, even if Jules watches Will like she's wary of his answer.

" _Definitely_ not showing them the sequels," Oliver mutters into her ear.

Felicity nods. "Definitely not," she whispers back. If what the kids are getting from this is 'yay teamwork,' the next in the series is a terrible idea.

But, that's not really what has Felicity's focus at the moment.

No, that's Jules.

Because, in years past, Felicity is well aware that it isn't Iron Man her oldest would have sympathized with. No, it would have been Loki. That resentment, that bitterness and sense of displacement - earned or not - would have hit home with her. But now she doesn't even seem to register the similarities.

And, thank God for that.

"Why do the villains always try and talk people to death?" Jules asks as Loki tries to subjugate a crowd on the screen. "Do they all love the sounds of their own voices?"

"Yes," Oliver confirms. "Always. It's ego."

"Well, that's convenient for us," Ellie replies absently as she watches the show.

 _Us_.

The word sends a shiver up Felicity's spine, one Oliver clearly feels because he holds her a little tighter.

Ever since what the girls went through two years ago, Ellie's pushed so hard to grow up faster, to be a part of the team and take up the mantle of a vigilante. As a mother, that makes Felicity equal parts terrified and proud. She's always known that one day her little Ellie-bug would join the family business, take a place at her father's side - or even replace him - protecting the city. But she's barely sixteen and there's such a thing as trying to grow up way too fast. She's rushing through the stages of her life that she ought to be savoring. And telling her daughter to slow down, to take a breath and give it time, has done no good at all.

It keeps Felicity up at night, makes her worry in ways she never has for her middle child before.

Ellie had been such an easy kid for so long. In some ways, she still is. She's kind, smart, thoughtful, and generally happy. But then there's also this - a single-minded _drive_ to mold herself into the hero she thinks she's fated to be. That's always been there with Ellie, to a point. But since the kidnapping, since everything turned upside down… Well, her dedication has grown tenfold and it slices through Felicity's heart with a fresh sense of terror.

"Well, _hello there_ ," Jules says sharply, leaning forward and eyeing the television with way too much interest all of a sudden.

Felicity glances at the screen to find they've hit Thor's arrival. She looks back to her oldest who is rather blatantly checking out the movie's superhero god.

"You're ridiculous," Will tells her, flicking her ear.

Jules bats his hand away without looking. "He's crazy hot," she says. Without even realizing it, Felicity starts nodding along in agreement.

"Really?" Oliver asks, a hint of almost-playful incredulity in his voice as he stares down at her.

"I mean… he's…" Felicity tries, feeling more than a little defensive as she looks back to the screen. Thor's throwing his hammer and his biceps are just… "Yeah."

" _Ha!_ " Jules barks loudly. "Mom's got taste!"

"I knew that, thanks," Oliver tells her dryly before looking back to his wife.

"Sorry, honey," she tells him. "He's one good looking Norse god. But look on the bright side, at least I'm not all doe-eyed over Hawkeye and his archery."

Exasperation colors his face as he gestures at the screen. "Those shots aren't even real!"

"I know," she tells him, patting his chest. "I know. It's just Hollywood, hon. _None_ of this is real. Not even Thor… and I'm pretty sure Hemsworth doesn't have those muscles anymore."

"Is Hawkeye even _in_ this movie, yet?" Will asks.

"For like thirty seconds or something," Felicity replies.

"Thirty seconds too much," Oliver grumbles. Felicity laughs. "It's true," he defends.

Why is he so adorable when he's grumpy? It's ridiculous. He's pouting and all she wants to do is kiss it away.

"You'll always be my favorite archer," she promises him with a little smile, running her fingers through the mostly-gray scruff along his cheek. She angles her head up to press a lingering kiss to his downturned lips. He holds fast, but it's not long before he's giving in with a smile, kissing her back.

" _Ugh_ ," Nate protests in the background.

Felicity doesn't agree with her youngest's disgust. She hums in quiet delight as they part, her hand still against her husband's cheek, savoring that connection. Neither of them pay Nate's protest any mind, instead resting their foreheads together, noses brushing softly.

She sighs in contentment.

"You're missing the fight scene with your mushiness," Jules tells them around a mouthful of popcorn.

It's true, but it's not like either of them care. They both learned long ago to relish quiet moments of closeness when they can. This is so much more worthwhile than watching Bruce Banner turn into the Hulk or Loki's escape or the ship lose its engines. They get more than enough destructive moments of excitement in their lives. Quiet moments of holding on to each other are the ones they grab onto and don't let go of. And they do…

Right up until Nate's protest is about something else entirely.

"What the heck!" he shouts at the television. "No, that's ridiculous. They can't kill Coulson. He's the best character! What kind of movie is this?"

"Sorry, kiddo," Will says, bumping his shoulder against his little brother's.

"Why would they do that?," Nate asks, his voice high with distress. He's all tension and a set jaw. Her baby is such a feeler, takes everything to heart. It makes her want to wrap him up and protect him from the world sometimes. "Why would they kill him?"

"They needed something to pull them together," Oliver tells his son. "Something to motivate everyone to become a team."

"Well, I hate it," Nate declares. "He was the best character in this movie. This movie's stupid."

"If it helps any, he's not really dead," Felicity advises her little boy.

"He's not?" Ellie asks. "He looks pretty dead to me with the giant hole in his chest."

"There was a whole thing in the tv show," Felicity tells her, waving her hand. "They basically Lazarus Pitted him. Without the crazy. Or… with a different breed of crazy, really…"

"That doesn't help," Nate tells her.

"Nate," Oliver starts, pausing and looking toward his wife for a moment before continuing. Just from the look and his tone, Felicity knows whatever he's about to say is far more important than the movie itself. "We've been lucky, for the most part. But what they do, what _we_ do… it's dangerous. People get hurt. People die. There's no pretending that's not true. Not even in a movie."

Nate frowns, clearly not enjoying the healthy dose of reality. "I don't wanna watch this anymore," he says, putting his popcorn bowl on the coffee table and folding his arms.

"Oh, kiddo, don't quit now," Felicity sighs. "It gets better from here. I promise."

"No one else dies?" he demands.

"Spoiler alert?" she asks, looking between the kids, who all nod. "No one else dies."

Nate stares at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there isn't one. He finally sits back with a heavy frown. He isn't thrilled about continuing the movie, but at least he stays. Will wraps his arm around the younger boy and rubs his shoulder comfortingly. It does exactly what it's supposed, settling Nate some, at least enough for his frown to soften as he leans into his brother.

On screen, the fight spills onto the streets of New York. Buildings crumble and aliens invade, spreading chaos and violence. In some ways, it's very familiar. They've seen scenes like this over the years, fought these battles. But Felicity has no doubt that it's far more reminiscent of reality to her and Oliver, and even William, than the younger kids. For all that there are still battles to be fought and won - and there always will be - they've made a tremendous difference these past two decades. Their city is safer, their world a little bit better.

But the scene that plays out on the television isn't reality and it isn't the midpoint of their story; it's the start. And the Avengers have so much more work to do before their world reflects their heroism. Felicity can increasingly see the fruits of their efforts in the streets of Starling. She knows full well this kind of fight is worth it. But she's also well aware that it _is_ a fight and it is not something solved within the span of a movie.

"Okay, but _look_ at that shield," Ellie points out, gesturing at the television with one hand as she stares at her sister. "Tell me that's not amazing."

The metal disc bounces around on screen in improbable ways, taking out aliens left and right before boomeranging back to Captain America's hands. Cinematically, it's fun. In reality, it's not like that would actually work. At least, Felicity's pretty sure it wouldn't. It's not like she's some kind of crazy ninja warrior girl. But she's been around fighting for a few decades now and she's got a good idea of what's realistic and what's not. That's not realistic, she decides, before reminding herself it's not supposed to be.

"Uh huh," Jules replies with a sigh. "Almost as amazing as flying around with lasers shooting from your hands."

" _Ugh_ ," Ellie huffs in exasperation, shaking her head as she looks toward the ceiling. Jules is far too self-satisfied with her sister's frustration and Will is obviously thoroughly amused by both of his sisters, but it's Nate who once again grabs her attention. He's so focused on the screen, so intense, and Felicity can't help but wonder what her little boy is thinking.

"This would be so much less messy if Coulson were there," Nate grumbles after a moment. "All those people just keep getting caught in the crossfire. All those buildings are falling. Their jobs are gone, their homes… I thought the Avengers were supposed to save the day?"

Things are so simplistic to him sometimes.

"They do, baby," Felicity tells him. "But you can't win every battle in a war. That's not how it works."

Oliver swallows hard behind her, his hand jerking slightly against her skin. She runs her fingers along his, soft and soothing, chasing away the memories of battles lost.

"I just figured…" Nate starts, shaking his head a little. "I mean, it's a movie."

In spite of having seen the rougher aspects of what Team Arrow does, he's retained the childish innocence that an almost-twelve-year-old _should_ have. As much as it amazes her, she's grateful for it, but she also wonders how long that can possibly last.

It's something that his sisters both lost long ago.

"Exactly," Jules points out. "It's a movie. It wouldn't be entertaining if they won every fight, would it? That'd be boring."

The look on Nate's face tells Felicity he doesn't agree, but he also doesn't speak up. He's made of very different stuff than either of his sisters. He will never take up the family mantle - not like Ellie will, or like she wonders if Jules might. Nate's too gentle for that, too much of a pacifist. She can't even imagine what it would take for him to be pushed into their world of vigilantism.

Felicity actually expects Jules to keep poking at her brother, but the older girl falls oddly silent watching the television.

On the screen, Iron Man is pulling his great act of heroism, moving to sacrifice himself for the city. Jules is visibly bothered by it. Her brow furrows, her jaw clenching tightly as she stares at the screen.

She's not the only one who picks up on Jules' discomfort. Ellie leans against her sister again, resting her cheek on Jules' shoulder, wrapping her arms around the older girl's elbow. It's somehow both supportive and protective.

"Tony's gotta live," Ellie tells Jules in a quiet voice. "Mom said so. And, anyhow, who would be a pain in the ass to Captain America with him gone? That's half the movie."

Jules is a little mollified by that, shooting her sister a small smile before looking back nervously at the screen.

If Felicity had been asked before the movie who her oldest would identify with most strongly, Tony Stark would not have been her pick. But, looking back, maybe it should have. Like Iron Man, Jules so often hides her feelings behind a sense of false bravado and outlandish behavior. That's varied a lot over the years, hitting its worst peak just under a year ago, but it's undeniably her default mode when she feels threatened or scared.

The rest of the fight unfolds. The Avengers save the day and they all survive unscathed - more or less. Nate's pretty annoyed that Coulson's still gone when the credits roll, but he grudgingly admits he kind of enjoyed the movie. It leaves Jules quietly thoughtful and Ellie excited, talking about working some of Natasha's moves into her training.

It's just a movie, Oliver reminds Ellie. What works on screen doesn't usually work in real life. But she won't be dissuaded. It's only Will reminding her that she wanted to help him babysit that keeps her from rushing down to the gym to spar against a training dummy.

Sometimes Ellie terrifies Felicity. She's so gung-ho, so ready to don a mask, and yet… she's not ready in the least.

These days, it's Ellie - not Jules - who she thinks might give her an ulcer.

"Thanks, Dad," Jules tells Oliver as she stands. Behind her, Nate is collecting their popcorn bowls and lemonade glasses. "You were right. That was a good movie."

"Glad you liked it," Oliver tells her. Felicity's still curled up on his lap, not inclined in the least to move. His body heat suffuses through her, leaves her comfy and so very loved as his hand strokes along her arm. "Maybe we can all go see the reboot. If it's any good."

Felicity expects her daughter to say no, to tell them she has plans with friends or she's not interested. After all, she's a nineteen-year-old college student and she probably has better things to do with her time than to hang out with her parents and siblings. But Jules surprises her, biting her lower lip and nodding a little. "Yeah, okay," Jules replies. "That might be fun."

"Do you have dance practice tonight?" Will asks from behind her.

"No," Jules says, glancing at the clock. "But I do have a date and I should go get ready because Miles is gonna be here in like an hour."

It's almost five months that she's been seeing this guy, which is a record for Jules. While she won't say it's serious with him, she also won't say it's not. That alone is enough to give Felicity pause, but what she's seen of Miles himself does even more so.

She's met this kid a few times and he seems nice, but it's all very surface-level interaction. It feels forced, fake. On one hand, she's just his girlfriend's mom. She doesn't expect him to be super interactive with her. But, on the other, she worries that it's all there is to him.

Jules talks about him like he hung the moon, like he's some brilliant philosopher and a musical genius. But all she sees is a kid with who took a break from college to focus on his band. He reminds her of Cooper without the intelligence to back up his ego and it makes her wish Jules could learn from her mistakes secondhand. But she can't and Felicity doesn't want to risk damaging her relationship with her daughter in an attempt to force it. She's more than a little worried that this boy is going to utterly shatter her little girl's heart because she's pretty sure that Jules has given more of it than she realizes. All she can do is be there to help pick up the pieces once he's gone.

"I've got a group project to work on," Nate tells them, derailing her thoughts. Knowing him, he's probably doing the entirety of it himself. That or he's worked out a detailed assignment chart. Either one is possible.

"Okay," Felicity nods from her spot on Oliver's lap. "Thanks for grabbing the dishes."

"Sure." Nate smiles as he heads back downstairs toward the kitchen.

Jules gives a little nod their way before jogging to her room to get ready for her date. Will, for his part, wraps an arm around Ellie and says, "Thanks for the help babysitting. I'll just move over my laundry and then we can get going, okay?"

"Okay," Ellie agrees, smiling up at him.

"Glad you're okay, Will," Oliver tells his oldest son. "Give Tessa our best and let me know if there's anything her family needs, okay?"

"Yeah," Will says with a nod. "I'll make sure to do that. But, honestly Dad, you caught the guy who did this to her. That's more than enough."

There's absolutely no missing the pleased look that takes over Oliver's face at his son's pride and approval. William's acceptance of Oliver has always meant so much to him and it's always been so freely given. It could have been so much more complicated. Felicity knows that. But they got lucky. William's a great kid, an _easy_ kid, and he has always been as eager to have Oliver in his life as Oliver has been to have his son in his.

Will squeezes his father's shoulder in silent affection as he heads back downstairs toward the laundry. Ellie follows shortly on his heels, dropping a kiss on both of her parents' cheeks before she goes.

And then, it's just them.

Felicity sighs, burrowing further into her husband's loose hold around her. She holds onto him as much as he holds onto her. It's a quiet moment, domestic and simple, a calm in the storm of their lives. She doesn't have to be at QI and he doesn't have to be at the Senate and there's no big bad launching a war against the city. Their kids are safe and happy and - for the moment - all beneath their roof.

These are the moments she loves to savor.

"Should we get up?" Oliver asks after a minute, his fingers stroking down the length of her neck softly.

"Mmm, no," she counters, cupping his cheek and leaning her head against his bicep as she looks up at him. The affection that lives in their shared gaze is breathtaking, blinding, perfect. "I like it here."

He smiles down at her, those soft wrinkles that line his eyes deepening with his joy. "Me too," he tells her. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

She doesn't have to tell him that they both are.

He already knows.


	17. November 2038

Chapter specific warning for teenager (16) in a sexual situation with another teenager (17 or 18).

* * *

 **November 2038**

Cami McMasters is the prettiest girl Nate Queen's ever seen.

She transferred in at the start of the year, all shiny blonde hair and long legs and a confident smile that draws people to her. It sure as hell drew Nate to her… at least to a point. It's not like he's actually going to _approach_ her, but her impact on him is still pretty sizable. The first time he saw her, he'd been talking to his buddy Matt about plans for the debate club. He went from discussing words-per-minute goals to stopping mid-word with a quiet, " _Woah_." Matt still makes fun of him, but he's pretty sure that's only because he didn't see her first.

His reaction hadn't been a whole lot more coherent, after all.

Scuttlebutt has it that Cami moved from Gotham because her dad had taken some VP job over at Merlyn Global. In _theory,_ this should give them something approaching common ground to have an actual conversation. But in reality, she's a year older and about a dozen steps up the high school social hierarchy ladder. Queen or not, Nate's a nerd on the debate team while Cami was quickly welcomed onto the cheerleading squad and that - in high school - absolutely defines their roles.

They share exactly one class: French.

Nate hasn't been able to get out so much as a ' _Bonjour'_ in front of her all year. His mouth goes dry and his hands get clammy and he has to hold his school books in front of himself because he's sixteen. His stupid body responds to virtually everything at the drop of a hat, but _especially_ to Cami. If he did, by some miracle, manage to talk to her, with his luck his voice would probably squeak and break like it did back in freshman year. It's probably just as well that he can't seem to eek anything out.

Either way, he can't stop looking at her and, to his simultaneous excitement and horror, he's pretty sure she's starting to notice.

"Whatever, man," Matt tells him when he starts to panic at lunch. She actually meets his eyes after one of her friends nudges her and nods in his direction. It more or less short circuits his brain. He's been watching her on and off since the bell rang. "Maybe if you, I dunno, _said_ something to her you might have a shot."

"Are you crazy?" Nate blinks at his friend. "I can't talk to her! She's… she's _her_. And I'm me. Those two things don't overlap."

"Bet you'd like to 'overlap,' though," Matt smirks as their friend Carlos busts up laughing. The two of them high five over the table.

Their flippant attitude annoys Nate though, because it's not like that. Or… okay, he's sixteen, so it's at least a little bit like that, but that's not all it is. Yes, her cheerleading uniform _does_ things to him because those legs are just… They give him _thoughts_. And he spends way too much time staring at her lips, but that's not entirely because he's imagining doing things involving them; it's mostly just because of her smile. It just sends a rush of something through him and makes him feel two shades brighter about absolutely everything. And her laugh… wow, don't get him started on that.

"Whatever," Nate says to his friends, taking a too-big bite of his sandwich to avoid having to talk.

"Aw, don't be like that," Carlos replies. "Look, your girl's crazy hot." Nate almost chokes on his food at Cami being described as 'his girl.' Carlos gives him a solid thump on the back, which does nothing to help his near-death-by-tuna-fish-sandwich, as he continues. "But you've never got a shot if you can't even say hi."

"You've got a better chance than the rest of us," Matt notes, his tone vaguely bitter.

Nate clenches his jaw. Matt's great and all - they've been friends since middle school - but the semi-regular reminders of his last name and his family's wealth have always been something of a buffer between them. The jealousy grates on Nate's nerves just as it absolutely frays their friendship.

Carlos, however, more than makes up for it.

"Yeah, on account of you're fuckin' _tall_ dude and you've got big feet," Carlos grins with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows that makes Nate blush.

He's not wrong. Nate's grown like a weed these last few years, in slight defiance of genetics. His mom isn't that tall and he's already nearly the same height as his dad, much to his father's chagrin. It puts him a solid head above the vast majority of his classmates and _would_ have easily gotten him a spot on the basketball team, had he been interested in such things.

But he's not. This is _also_ much to his father's chagrin, even if he doesn't say it aloud. Nate's interest in sports is non-existent. Economics, on the other hand…

"She broke up with Landon," Matt notes. Nate stops mid-chew and swallows hard, his eyes going wide. "Hadn't heard that yet, huh?"

"What?" Nate asks in place of a response, because he's half convinced his ears stopped working. "I mean, when? What happened?"

"Tuesday," Carlos advises around a mouthful of the cafeteria's attempt at mashed potatoes. "You really didn't hear?"

"You two didn't tell me!" Nate points out. "Who the hell else am I gonna hear it from?"

They look at each other and shrug. Traitors.

"It's, like, all anyone's talked about since it happened, dude," Carlos tells him.

"Nate was too busy staring at her like a choir of angels was about to start singing and birds were gonna do her hair or some shit," Matt says with a smirk. "He wasn't listening to anything that anybody was saying."

Matt might have a point, but _come on_. The girl he's been mooning over for months is suddenly single and his friends don't tell him?

"You two are shit friends," Nate informs them sullenly, which only makes them laugh.

"Does it even matter?" Matt asks. "It's not like you're gonna talk to her anyhow." Nate pauses and chews on the edge of his lip as he thinks. " _Are you_?"

Both Matt and Carlos stare at him with huge eyes, their lunches forgotten.

After a beat, Nate says, "Maybe."

Matt drops his sandwich.

"Holy shit, you're gonna do it. He's gonna do it!" Carlos announces in a too-loud ring of triumph before hopping up on his plastic seat with a booming voice that rings out across the whole cafeteria. "My boy's gonna do it!"

Nate drops his forehead on the table with a heavy thud, smushing his glasses up against his face. He _knows_ the entire lunchroom is looking their way and his face is probably bordering on fire engine red at this point.

"Sit the fuck down, dumbass," Matt instructs, yanking Carlos by the arm so hard he almost falls into his lunch.

In the background, beyond the dull roar of chatter and laughter from his classmates, there's a teacher yelling something about detention to Carlos.

"Worth it!" his friend crows victoriously.

Nate can't pick his head up. He's just gonna stay like this forever, he decides. That seems like a reasonable solution.

"Is she looking?" he mutters into the laminated particle board the school calls a table.

"Dude, everyone's looking," Matt tells him.

 _Fantastic_.

"Come _on_ ," Carlos whines, pulling on the back of his shirt. "You're making it worse, man. What are you gonna do? What are you gonna say to her?"

Nate doesn't sit back up, but he does turn his head to the side to look at Carlos, cushioning it against his arm. "Dunno," he says, shrugging. "Thought I might start with 'hi' and go from there?"

"Solid plan… Solid plan…" Carlos declares, stroking his chin. "Probably best not to start out with 'I love you, please have my babies' in the long run."

Matt snickers across from them.

"I need new friends," Nate mutters.

Despite the persistent nagging of his buddies, it takes Nate six days and at least twice as many false starts before he manages to say a word to Cami. And when he does… well, it doesn't go precisely as planned.

 _Hi_. He'd been going to say hi. Simple. Clear. Friendly. It's a good word. The perfect word, really. In his head, she'd been going to say, ' _Hi, Nate'_ back before biting her red-stained lip and blushing at him and… Yeah, that'd been the start to more than one dream featuring her in the week that followed. Unfortunately, as it turned out, his brain had gotten a bit ahead of his tongue.

It all starts off perfectly enough. He's standing outside of French class when she arrives. It's first period and they're both early. It's just them and Nate can't breathe because his luck is just not this good.

But then he opens his mouth.

"Bon-hi," he says.

The attempt at a word just hangs in the air for a moment, dangling awkwardly between them, and he wishes with a tremendously fierce desperation that he could grab it and shove it back in his mouth.

 _Oh my God_ , what even _was_ that?

"Bon _jour_ , I mean." He laughs nervously as she raises an eyebrow at him. "I mean bonjour. Because… you know… French class. Bonjour… which _means_ hi. Not Bon-hi, which means… nothing."

His verbal floundering doesn't even come close to dialing anything back. He wants to die, because she's looking at him like he's crazy. How the hell had he failed at the word ' _hi?'_ A toddler can say hi! He feels like he might be sick, which is actually the only thing he can think of that would make this situation worse at the moment.

"Oooo-kay," she says with a derisive laugh and a dismissive shake of her head as she tries the doorknob to the classroom.

It's open. He hadn't even bothered to check and now he feels like even more of an idiot than he did before.

When he tells his mom the next day that he's got a headache and needs to stay home sick, she doesn't question it. He's absurdly grateful for the long weekend he spends wallowing in his room.

But Monday comes - as Mondays tend to do - and he can't avoid the world forever… unless maybe he could? He's a responsible kid. He could totally be home schooled or do one of those online high schools or maybe transfer somewhere else.

The idea seems reasonable for the whole weekend and the better part of Monday morning.

"Bon-hi!" Matt greets him at his locker.

"I hate you," Nate grumbles back. "I honestly hate you right now."

"Gotta laugh at yourself, man," Carlos advises, slinging an arm around them both. "Life sucks otherwise. I made an entry for 'bon-hi' in Urban Dictionary over the weekend, by the way. _You're welcome_."

"Do you think it's too late to take Russian instead of French?" Nate asks, tossing a book in his locker and slamming it shut. "My dad could help me. I could catch up."

"Sorry, man," Matt tells him. It is November and now is not the time of the school year to pick up a new language, but Nate really doesn't care if it means avoiding that classroom forever. "Look at it this way, though. It really can't get any worse."

Carlos smacks Matt upside the back of the head at that, making him yelp as he looks at his friend in annoyance.

"What's wrong with you?" Carlos asks. "Why would you jinx him like that, man? Dios mio."

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Nate groans.

And, yeah, he is definitely feeling a bit green. Carlos and Matt both back up three steps. It's clear they remember the state fair last summer with their impromptu hot dog eating contest followed by the Mountain of Doom roller coaster. Never let it be said his friends don't learn from their mistakes.

Nate would love to say it's food poisoning and have a reason to go home, but he knows better. It's just life. He takes a cleansing breath. It mostly settles the butterflies having a riot in his stomach.

 _Mostly_.

He really, really doesn't want to go to French. Like at all. Ever again. How mandatory _is_ the foreign language requirement really?

"Hi, Nate."

For a long second - the longest of his sixteen years - he's frozen stock still. Were it not for the bug-eyed looks and dropped jaws on his buddies' faces, Nate would be absolutely certain he was hallucinating. Because that voice - _that voice_ \- does not talk to him. Not ever. Not beyond the awkward and slightly derisive but still somehow melodic, " _Oooo-kay_ " last Thursday.

Carlos smacks Matt's chest repeatedly right up until Matt punches him in the shoulder to put a stop to it. But Nate… Nate barely registers any of that, because two feet to his right stands Cami McMasters.

And she's talking. To _him_. She's wearing her cheerleading uniform - which is… it fits her well, very well - and she's talking to him and he cannot _breathe_.

It's nothing compared to when she looks him up and down, blatantly checking him out before biting her lip and blinking up at him through her lashes.

Holy _hell_.

"Did you have a good weekend?" she asks.

Her friends are somewhere in the background, whispering to each other, and for what feels like a solid minute he's positive he's being pranked. Any second now everyone's going to start laughing and he's going to have to change schools or possibly cities. That's a thing he can do, right? His parents aren't, like, _attached_ to Starling City or anything.

But no one laughs. In fact, Cami's friends are eyeing him with something that looks a whole lot like interest.

He's so floored that his mouth forgets how to work.

"' _Hi,'"_ Carlos hisses as he bounces up and down. "' _Hi_ ' is the word you're looking for, dude. Fucking say it!"

"H… hi," Nate manages, swallowing hard.

She gives him a blinding smile.

Is this a dream? This might be a dream. If it is, he totally doesn't want to wake up because…

 _Wow_.

"You're sorta cute," she says.

Matt and Carlos make noises that are somewhere between a laugh and some kind of dying animal and he might kill them both. He knows how. His dad made sure of that. But this might not be quite the circumstances he'd meant for his son to test out those skills.

"You're… I, uh… Wait, what?" he asks. Nate's brain has stopped working entirely, but his body hasn't. Thank god he hadn't put all of his books in his locker; he uses his calculus book as a shield to hide a growing _issue_ in his pants.

"Are you going to the game tonight?" Cami asks.

The words ring in his ears. He knows he's supposed to answer, but his tongue just doesn't _work_ , so he just kind of stands there instead, staring at her like a bug-eyed goldfish that can't close its damned mouth.

"He is," Carlos says, slapping him on the back. The hit jumpstarts his lungs and Nate sucks in a breath, which is something he'd apparently forgotten how to do. "Hi, ladies!" Carlos adds, nodding past Cami to her friends. "What's up?" They laugh, but Carlos isn't focused on them. No, he's focused on being the best wingman in history and Nate _loves_ his friend. Carlos is the goddamned best. "He's going to the game. Wouldn't miss it for the world. Right, Nate?"

"Right," Nate says in another rush of breath, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Yes, wouldn't… wouldn't miss you. _It_ , wouldn't miss it. The game. Or you, there, at the game. Where you'll be."

"I guess I'll see you there, then," Cami says, her eyes running over him again. "Maybe we could hook up after. You could give me a ride."

"Oh, he'll give you-" Carlos starts, but Nate has enough presence of mind to slap a hand over his friend's mouth. He knows exactly where Carlos' mind has gone and he's back to the possibility of having to kill his best friend.

"Definitely," Nate manages. "Yes, I'd… I'd like that. We could maybe hang out. Or, you know, whatever."

"Or whatever," she agrees with a grin, her green eyes flashing with a spark that shoots right through him. He's suddenly harder than he's ever been in his entire life and he has absolutely no clue how he's going to make it through French class - where she is speaking French and looking at him like _that_ \- without freaking exploding.

"I'll… see you then. There. At the game," he replies with a nod. He's actually been nodding, he realizes suddenly. Possibly for quite some time. It's kind of a miracle she hasn't just laughed in his face by now.

"It's a date," she tells him, moving to walk past him. But not before touching his arm lightly with her carefully manicured nails. They linger - her fingers touching his _bare skin_ \- before she heads down the hallway.

He's going to die by choking on his own tongue. He won't get the chance to go to the game because _holy shit_ she talked to him and asked him out and called it a date and she _touched_ _him_ and he's going to die.

"Holy shit!" Carlos shouts, his voice muffled by Nate's hand. As soon as the girls disappear around a corner, he bounces up and down, forcing Nate's hand to fall away. " _Holy shitballs, dude_!"

"What. The. Fuck?" Matt asks emphatically, laughing and throwing his hands out in a gesture that's at least as much of a question as his words. "What just happened? Did our boy score?"

"Oh… oh, our boy _scored_ ," Carlos declares, the two of them high fiving each other with a loud smack. "Cami McMasters, dude. Cami Mc-fucking-Masters!"

"What just happened?" Nate asks, looking at them both. "Was that real? Did that just…"

"Did you just get asked on a date by Cami McMasters, you mean?" Carlos asks.

"You damn well did, man," Matt nods. "You got like a magic lamp or something? You hiding a genie from us? What the hell?"

"What… the… hell?" Carlos echoes heavily, shaking his head.

"I don't… I have no idea." Nate shakes his head in stunned bewilderment. "I didn't think she even knew my _name_."

"Well she does," Carlos replies as Matt nods in agreement. "She _does_. And I'd say she wants to know a whole lot more about you than just your name, if you know what I mean."

" _I_ know what you mean," Matt says with raised eyebrows. "And I do believe you're right. Good thing you've got a hot car, Nate."

"That's…" Nate says, swallowing heavily, because _yeah_ , the implication had been there but she can't possibly have meant _that_ , can she? "I mean, maybe she just wants a ride after the game."

"She wants a _ride,_ alright." Carlos snickers, because he could not possibly let that joke slide, but at least he hadn't said it in front of Cami. Matt nods along, laughing like it's the funniest thing in history.

Nate's a little less thrilled by the joke and its implication than his friends, which is silly and probably stupid on a couple levels, but it's true. He likes Cami. He likes her smile and her laugh… And, okay, her legs and the way her butt looks in that cheerleading uniform; there's no denying that. Sure, he's had plenty of less than wholesome daydreams about her, but that's all they'd been - daydreams. In reality, he'd kind of like to take her to dinner and hold her hand and talk to her, get to know her… Maybe get the chance to kiss her goodnight. As amazing as what they're suggesting would be - as much as his body very, _very_ much likes that idea - he's not sure that's realistically what he wants.

But he's a sixteen year old boy and he's not going to tell his friends that.

"Shut up," he says instead, flushing as he hikes his bookbag further up his shoulder.

"Hey, think you could hook us up with some of her friends?" Carlos asks, wagging his eyebrows. Nate shoots him a look. "Too soon?"

"Come on," Nate says instead of answering. "The bell's gonna ring any second. We've gotta get to class."

Somehow, Nate makes it through French class, though not without extreme difficulty. Cami keeps glancing back at him whenever the teacher's back is turned. She's chewing gum - which isn't allowed - and he keeps seeing her tongue peek out between her gloss-stained lips whenever she blows a bubble. His pants are so damned uncomfortable that he wonders if this is what dying feels like. Has anyone ever died of being entirely too turned on? Is that possible? God, just don't let him be the first to go like that. That's all he asks. If he makes the history books, he really doesn't want that to be why.

The second that class ends, she heads straight for him. "See you tonight, Nate," she says in a throaty voice, running her hand along his shoulder.

He ends up being late to math because standing up is _so_ not an option.

Nate makes it through the day, though he's not entirely sure _how._ The entire drive home is a complete daze, but he gets there in one piece and somehow in record time. He tramples up the stairs with a shouted, " _Hi, Mom"_ along the way. She's working from home today and she calls back, " _Hi, Nate! I'll be out in a few minutes."_

He barely registers her words because he has to leave for the game in two hours and he needs to take a shower and clean his car and change his clothes and brush his teeth and thank _god_ the guys aren't here or they'd laugh at him and call him a girl.

But this is important - _she's_ important - and Nate wants to get this exactly right. Details matter.

He's halfway through changing out of his shirt when he realizes he should clean his car _before_ showering and he bolts back down the stairs in a rush, grabbing a trash bag as he heads toward his electric Tesla roadster.

When his dad had wanted to get him a car for his sixteenth birthday, his mother's stipulation had been that it needed to be electric. That his dad had tracked down an extremely eco-friendly, very sporty convertible was something she'd definitely not anticipated and she hadn't been happy about it. Nate's pretty sure that's because of the time his older half-brother had driven their dad's sports car into the fountain in front of QI fourteen years prior. But, somehow - Nate absolutely does not want to know how because his parents can be totally gross and they're weirdly sappy with each other in a way that parents just should not ever be - he'd talked her into letting Nate keep it.

And he's grateful because it's an _awesome_ car. But that doesn't mean that Carlos didn't leave McDonalds wrappers all over the floor of the passenger seat.

He's gotta clean. And have a talk with Carlos. But one of those things can wait and the other can't.

"Mom!" he shouts from in front of the doorway to the garage. "Where's the vacuum?!"

"What?" she asks, popping her head out of her office. She takes in his appearance with no small measure of surprise on her face. "Nate, you just got home from school and I appreciate the help around the house, but Raisa and her niece came yesterday and-"

"No!" Nate interrupts before realizing he's cut off his mother. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… It's just that's not it. I need to clean my car."

She takes two steps out of her office, moving slowly. He has the distinct impression that he's being studied like a particularly troublesome line of code. It's unsettling.

"Why?" she asks, watching him closely. He's pretty sure she already knows the answer.

"I'm giving someone a ride home from the game," he tells her. "I need to clean."

"You're going to the game…" she echoes. It doesn't sound at all like a question but he answers anyhow.

"Yes," he confirms.

"With one of the boys, or…" She waves her hand from him to continue.

"No," Nate says, shifting awkwardly. "It's not… Not the guys."

His mother gasps, way too much excitement flooding her features. "Nate, do you have a date?"

Good lord, he doesn't have time for this.

"Maybe?" he asks, feeling frazzled and desperate. "I honestly don't even know, Mom, she just said maybe I could give her a ride home after the game and I don't want her sitting on crumbs from Carlos' old french fries."

" _Nate_!" she declares with something bordering on a squeal that reminds him _way_ too much of Grandma Donna. Luckily for him, he's entirely too smart to point that out to his mom, though. "Honey, you have a date!"

"Okay," he agrees, because that's easier, "but I don't have a vacuum cleaner. Mom, help me!"

"Right!" she says, nodding a moment and holding up her finger. "I'll be right back. You get started."

"Thank you," he sighs, hurrying out to his car and beginning the chore of making it presentable.

It's actually not as bad as he'd thought, but he definitely needs to have that chat with Matt and Carlos about their eating habits because this is not cool. He's gonna ban fast food from his car entirely. He's just fished a sock out from under the passenger seat - and, really, how the hell had that gotten there? He's pretty sure it's not even his - when his mom shows up with a hand vacuum that she holds up like a trophy.

"You're the best, Mom," he tells her. Nobody's better than his mom. Nobody.

"I have my moments," she agrees, leaning against his car. "So… tell me about this girl."

There it is. He'd never had a shot at getting through this afternoon without that question being asked. Not after his mother found out there _was_ a girl to ask about, anyhow.

"Uh, her name's Cami," he says, glancing at her and trying not to blush as he thinks about his pending sort-of-date. "She's… she's just special, is all."

"Special?" his mom asks.

"Yeah." He's not really all that keen to elaborate.

"Is she in debate club with you?" his mom asks.

"No, uh… French class," he tells her, running the hand vacuum over the seat with a near-silent whir. "Debate isn't really her thing."

He realizes a moment too late that he probably shouldn't have offered that information up to his mother.

"So, what is her 'thing,' then?"

His mother's intuition and top-notch investigative skills might have saved the city plenty of times, but they're a whole lot less exciting to her kids.

"Um… cheerleading," he admits. When his mother doesn't he respond right away, he swallows hard before looking up to find her more-or-less frozen in place, her eyebrows reaching previously unseen heights.

"Cheerleading," she repeats in a totally monotone voice.

"Yeah," he agrees, chewing his lip.

"You have a date with a cheerleader."

Her voice is no less monotone and Nate's not sure if he's more offended on Cami's behalf or indignant on his own. Honestly, is it so unthinkable that he could have a date with a cheerleader?

"She just transferred in this year," he says, trying not to get his hackles raised, but his mom undoubtedly picks up on his defensiveness anyhow. "And that has to be hard, right? To transfer to a new school for your senior year? But she's got this great smile that just… you'd never know things were hard on her. She smiles and the whole room lights up. And it's… She's beautiful and I can't even form words when I'm around her, but she asked _me_ to drive her home from the game."

"She's a senior," his mom repeats. Of course that's the part she picked up on. "You have a date with an older cheerleader."

"She's only a year ahead of me," he says in exasperation, standing up straight and tossing the vacuum onto the seat. "And what's wrong with cheerleading, Mom?" He's so much taller than his mother now. He forgets that sometimes. He thinks she does, too, given the way she looks up at him in surprise.

"Nothing, honey." She smiles, clearly trying to smooth things over, but her eyes look every bit as concerned. "I guess I'm just surprised. You don't really date much and… I don't know. She just doesn't sound like what I expected."

He gets that, at least in theory. Nate's focus is school, and it would make sense for him to develop an interest in someone like himself, someone at least as concerned with the math portion of the SAT's as they are with the movies opening that weekend. And maybe Cami is. He doesn't know that yet. Hopefully he'll find out tonight. But that isn't why he fell for this girl and he knows that's the part that's surprised his mother.

"I like her smile, Mom," he says softly. It's a simple statement, but it leaves him feeling raw, because it's as honest as it is uncomplicated.

"You like her smile," his mother repeats. She shakes her head, looking at him affectionately.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"Oh, Nate…. Okay," she agrees, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Take your phone. No drinking. Be safe and drive carefully."

"I'm not leaving yet," he points out, looking down at his clothes. God, he needs a shower. He's a bundle of nerves and hormones. "But I do have to get moving."

"I'll leave you to it then," she agrees, hugging him tightly before letting go and heading back into the house.

He watches her go for a second, thinking that she - of all people - should understand. She's like him, a nerd to the very core, and his dad is decidedly _not_. Nate can only imagine how many eyebrows were raised when his parents first got together.

Maybe he and Cami will be like that.

First, though, he needs to clean his car.

As with most things, Nate is meticulous and his car is pretty much spotless and smells like lemon-scented cleaner by the time he's done and headed for the shower.

He spends half of it remembering exactly how glossy Cami's lips had been in French class and envisioning them blowing something far less wholesome than bubblegum. He feels a bit guilty about that, but there's also no other option. He's been at least half-hard since this morning and if he hadn't taken the edge off he was never going to make it through their date without completely embarrassing himself.

It takes him way less time than planned to get ready. The thought of waiting is too much, though. He's far too antsy; he's gonna crawl out of his skin if he just sits here.

And maybe he can catch the cheerleaders warming up if he's early.

Nate makes an effort to slip out quickly, not really wanting to field more questions from his mother, but she materializes out of thin air at the last minute, stopping him on the way out the door.

What follows isn't what he expected. It is, however, one of those moments that reminds him why his mom is his favorite person in the entire world.

"Nate," she says, smoothing over his school sweatshirt across his shoulders before resting her fingers against his collarbones and looking up at him with blatant affection. "Have fun," she tells him. "I hope everything about her is as great as her smile."

Something about those words - something about his _mother_ \- calms him, brings a sense of peace he hadn't quite realized he was missing. She makes it all slow down just a bit, makes him stop and take a breath as he smiles back.

"Thank you, Mom," he replies, kissing her cheek. "Me, too."

Nate's distracted enough that he's halfway to the school before he realizes Cami will be performing at the game, so he won't have anyone to sit with. Which _sucks_. After all, it's who-knows-how-many hours of sitting on cramped metal bleachers in the cold watching a game he barely understands, and one he doesn't care about at all.

The realization tanks his mood, until he pulls into the stadium parking lot and sees a very familiar rusted out Honda Civic smack in the middle of the lot. He shakes his head with a grin as he pulls his car up next to it, meeting the eyes of the two people sitting on the hood.

"I'm not even gonna give you shit about leaving trash in my car," he tells them as he gets out of his car. "I'm just glad you're here because what the hell else was I gonna do during the game?"

"Uh, watch it?" Matt asks, taking a swig of what is probably disturbingly cheap beer out of his thermos.

"You're gonna be too focused on a certain cheerleader to even know we're there anyhow," Carlos adds, taking the thermos from Matt and tipping it back. "Besides," he adds, offering a sip to Nate. He passes, if only because it smells horrible from here and that's just about the last thing he wants on his breath while he's talking to Cami. "We're hoping some of her friends follow her gaze and decide they just have to meet us."

Nate laughs and rolls his eyes. Of _course_ that's what they're thinking.

"Judge all you want, man," Matt tells him, hopping off the hood of his car. "Jamie's hot and single and did not flip me off at all today, so I think I might have a chance. You've already got your girl. Don't scoff at the rest of us single guys."

Nate can't help but laugh a little at that, too, because it's _ridiculous_ and Matt's totally ahead of himself. All Cami had done was ask him for a ride home. But still… hearing those words from his friend and knowing there's even a kernel of truth to them feels kinda awesome.

"Come on," Carlos says, jumping off the hood with enough vigor that the car shakes and groans in protest. "Let's go get the good seats. Maybe the girls are stretching and throwing each other in the air and stuff."

As it turns out, the warm-up is well underway and the three boys manage to get a bench right in front of the squad.

Cami waves and winks at him. Nate swears his heart beats so hard it might just hop out of his chest. When the cheerleaders take a break and she makes her way to lean over the railing to talk to him, he's pretty sure he stops breathing entirely.

"Hey," she says. "You came."

"Oh, I can promise he'll always come for you," Carlos says, completely serious.

And on _that_ double entendre, Nate's goodwill toward his buddy evaporates yet again. Luckily, Cami either doesn't get it or pretends not to get it and he's so very grateful for that.

"You look really great out there," he tells her instead. He mentally pats himself on the back for an entire sentence that actually makes sense being spoken in her presence without any fumbling whatsoever.

"Thanks." She grins broadly with a raised eyebrow. "You look really great up there."

Nate ignores the chortles of his friends next to him because… _wow_. Just wow. Every inch of his skin breaks out into goosebumps that have nothing at all to do with the cold and he can feel his pupils going blown as his pants grow tight for the eight millionth time today. He has the sense that she knows exactly what she's doing to him, though. It's a notion that's only affirmed when her coach calls her back and she blows him a kiss before striding away with far more sway to her hips than necessary.

"She's gonna kill me," he whispers as his friends hit his arm. He barely feels it. He's pretty much numb to everything but her.

It stays that way the entire game.

He could not care less about the score. If it weren't for Matt and Carlos, he wouldn't have even known who won the damned game - the other team, as it turned out, but he doesn't care about that either. He's there entirely for _her_ , for Cami, and there's never any question about that whatsoever.

Every time she looks up, he's looking back at her. He soaks her in, staring with bated breath when the other girls toss her in the air, when she does those crazy flips that show off both tremendous athleticism and a flexibility that admittedly gives him thoughts that should make him blush. And, yes, he stares at her ass when her skirt flips up and he marvels at the lines of her body when she flips end over end.

But mostly he watches her smile.

Man, would the guys laugh at him if they knew that part.

They don't, though. He keeps it to himself. It feels too private to share, like a secret between him and Cami, and there's a tremendous thrill that runs through him. Him and Cami, they're… _something_. The very idea would have stunned him just yesterday. He'd have thought it impossible. But now… now he's sitting in the freezing cold at the end of a football game he doesn't give a damn about because she asked him to be there.

Cami comes back over when the teams start disbanding and heading back to their respective buses or locker rooms or wherever they go. The bleachers start emptying out, not that Nate notices. All he sees is her and all he feels is the anticipatory excitement dancing along his nerves.

Despite the crowd starting to disperse, Nate's buddies loyally stick to his side.

"That was rough," Cami says, shaking her head at the field.

"That's what she sa-" Carlos starts until Matt mercifully slaps a hand over their friend's mouth.

So, okay, maybe Matt doesn't have to go, but Nate still might kill Carlos.

"I didn't even notice," Nate tells her. "I was too busy watching you."

She laughs and blushes, biting her lip and glancing at her toes before looking up at him through hooded eyes.

"Shit, dude, that was _smooth_ ," Matt says approvingly.

"Wanna get out of here?" Cami asks him with a quirked eyebrow and a hand on her hip.

Nate honestly can't say yes fast enough and he happily leaves his friends in the dust. When she slips her hand into his as they walk to his car, he's absolutely flying high, feels like maybe he's ended up in one of his daydreams. But her palm is hot against his in a way that bleeds warmth through the rest of him, in a way that feels _real_. Still, he can't stop stealing glances at her to reassure himself that she's actually there.

"Wow," she says, stopping in her tracks when they get to his car. "This is… one hell of a car. I mean, I'd heard you had a nice car but this is… wow."

It is. It's way flashier than anything else that anyone has at school, which had sort of made him self-conscious at first, but it's a _really_ awesome car so he got over it.

He opens the passenger door for her, his eyes finding those long legs of hers of their own volition as she slips into the seat. He practically leaps across the hood to get to the driver side.

"You want the top down, or…" he asks, starting the car up.

"Obviously," she laughs, closing her eyes and reaching her hands skyward where the roof is already pulling back. It's a stunning sight, gorgeous, and he just stops and stares at her for a moment, waiting until she's opens her eyes and meets his gaze.

"As you wish," he tells her, feeling cheesy as hell for quoting the movie that had been his Aunt Thea's favorite, but doing it anyhow.

"Hey, Nate?" Cami asks, sliding her hand up his thigh as he revs the engine a bit for show. He chokes on his own breath as his leg twitches under her hand and his cock goes to full attention immediately. "Screw going home," she continues, licking her lips. "How about we take this car of yours for a spin?"

There's no way in the world he's going to say no to that.

They peel out of the parking lot with _way_ more abandon than he usually shows, but Cami laughs and lets the wind send her ponytail flying wild, so he feels considerably more carefree than usual. He really doesn't think about where they're headed. He just drives. Anything to keep that smile on her face.

Nate is not a rebellious boy. He doesn't really drink or speed or test boundaries except, apparently, to impress Cami McMasters. For her, he pushes the limits of his car, sending it peeling around the corner of the road, just to hear her laugh, and going way faster than the speed limit just because she loves it.

They're a few miles up the road, more or less in the middle of nowhere, when her hand slides up his thigh and flexes dangerously close to his crotch.

She leans over closer, until her lips are practically touching his ear. "Pull over," she orders.

He does before the words even register, veering onto a conveniently placed access road to the nature preserve that stretches along the south side of the city. He shifts into park and kills the engine before turning toward her and when he does he's surprised to find her so close their noses nearly brush.

A grin spreads across her face. He can't see her mouth, but it's in her eyes, in the way the apples of her cheeks rise. This close up, he can see the flecks of darker color in her bright green eyes and he breathes out her name, his breath ghosting across her lips.

But she doesn't respond with words.

No, she responds far more emphatically than that.

Her cold fingers press against the side of his face and he shivers, but that has nothing at all to do with the cold. A rush of blood pounds in his ears, his heartbeat wild and uncontrolled, because a girl - _this_ girl, his dream girl - has one hand on his thigh and her other on his face and her nose brushes against his in a way that's more teasing than tentative.

None of it feels real, right up until she kisses him.

Then it's incredibly vivid and entirely real.

He's kissed girls before. Two of them, actually, but neither had been anything like this. Neither had left him feeling like his skin was electrified and he might either fly or melt into the seat. But this does. She does. And when she tugs on his lower lip with her teeth, he can't possibly cage in the moan that rises up in his throat.

She doesn't stop there.

Before he can even register what exactly is happening, she's climbing into his lap, straddling him sliding her tongue against his.

His brain whites out entirely.

This is new for Nate and as much as he can't believe his luck, he also can't quite figure out what to do with his hands. Is he supposed to touch her? Should he keep them at his sides? It's not a thing he's actually going to _ask_ , obviously, so it's a bit of a relief when she takes his hands in hers to guide him. The relief is short-lived though, because she sets his hands low on her hips and his fingers curl around to cup her ass.

Relief is the furthest thing from what he feels then.

"Oh my god," he whispers against her lips, choking on the last word when she presses her weight down right against his rigid cock. " _Cami_."

He can't help the way his fingers dig into her ass, pulling her harder against him, or the way his hips jump in a desperate bid for friction. He's sixteen with a lap full of warm girl and he just doesn't have that much self control.

"Hi," she says in reply, leaving a short series of pecks on his lips before trailing down to the underside of his jaw. He's not even embarrassed about the moan he lets out at that because _wow_. He's never even come close to feeling like this before. It's absolutely overwhelming in the best possible way.

Groaning out her name again, he lets go of her ass with one hand and slides it up her back to tangle in her long blonde ponytail. The whimper she gives when he tugs slightly to guide her mouth back to his hits him on an entirely different level. He _loves_ that noise - it's utterly galvanizing, spreading a sense of confidence through him that he hadn't had before, and it spurs him on.

Nate kisses her harder, hungry for her in a way he's never been able to sate before. But he can now. Now, he's allowed to do this. And the reality of that is settling over him quickly, leaving him as bold as he is desperate for her.

Angling her head for better access, he drags his lips down her jaw and the long, slim column of her throat until he reaches the juncture of her neck and shoulder where he sucks at her skin. She cries out at that, a noise that disappears amongst the canopy of trees surrounding them as she crushes her breasts against his chest. Even through the material of her cheerleading uniform, he can feel the way her nipples have pebbled with arousal. _For him_. God, this is just… how did he even get here?

Her hands tangle in his hair, holding him in place as he most definitely leaves a hickey on her neck. Fuck, but he loves the idea of that, seeing _that_ in French class tomorrow and knowing he'd left it there. Everyone seeing it there.

"Nate," she gasps out in a disjointed, breathy voice that dissolves into a whimper. Something inside his chest roars to life at that sound. He craves it with a bone-deep need that makes his hands shake. "Oh my _god_." It's a half-moan and half-laugh that rings out in her voice. "This is the best idea I've had in _years_."

"Fuck, _Cami_ ," he groans as his hand on her hip slides down to slip beneath her cheerleading skirt. His palm is sweaty as hell, but the fabric helps that some, and then it's just his shaking fingers cupping her butt, relishing the feel of her skin where the back of her thigh gives way to the pert curve of her ass. His hands are god damned trembling, both the one gripping her rear and the one working her ponytail loose, burying itself in her hair as the locks tangle around his fingers in a tremendously satisfying way.

She's a whole lot calmer than him, or maybe she's just hiding her nerves better. She scrapes her school-color-painted nails down his chest and he inwardly curses himself for wearing a sweatshirt because he can barely feel them and he'd very much like to, but then his brain short circuits entirely because she's reached his pants and her hands don't stop.

That smile he loves so much turns positively devilish, but he can't keep his eyes on her to watch it because all of a sudden she's cupping him through his jeans and rubbing her hand against the hard line of his painfully erect cock.

His eyes slam shut, his whole being focused on the sensations she's sending through his body. Absently, he registers a soft hushing noise. It takes a moment to recognize it's her and that he's breathing _way_ too fast, gulping back air on a moan that is as instinctive as any noise he's ever made.

God, he's going to have the worst case of blue balls in history later.

Unless, he realizes as the pressure lessens slightly and his eyes shoot open to find her dragging down the zipper of his fly, he _really, really doesn't_.

"Relax," she urges, reclining his seat a bit and scooting back so she's sitting more-or-less on his knees as she tugs down the top of his jeans and boxers.

He honestly can't believe this is even happening right now. He completely expects to wake up at any moment, desperately needing a shower and a change of sheets. But that doesn't happen.

Instead, Cami pulls his cock free from his clothes and her eyes go huge.

"Oh… _wow_ ," she declares, running her thumb up the vein along the underside of his dick. Sparks shoot right through him and he can't help the whimper he lets out as he thrusts himself against her hand. She goes a bit off kilter, her ass hitting the steering wheel and accidentally honking the horn, but he absolutely doesn't care about that at all because they're alone and Cami McMasters has her hand wrapped around the length of his cock, pumping him in an almost lazy way that makes him see spots.

Clearly, she knows what she's doing. She gives a little twist at the end, rubs her thumb across the head of his cock and spreads the fluid about that's already started leaking. Blindly, he reaches for her, tightening one hand over her thigh and sliding the other underneath the top of her uniform to cup her breast. It's tight, not easy at all to work his fingers beneath the fabric, but it's _worth it_ , especially when she mewls and rocks herself against his knee when his thumb finds her nipple.

"You're impressive, Nate Queen," she tells him, licking her lips as she twists her wrist and eyes his cock. God, that gives him _thoughts_. Thoughts that might actually have a chance of happening. He's not sure how to process that. "Where have you been hiding all this time?"

Nowhere. He's been hiding nowhere. He's been blatantly staring at her with interest the entire school year. He's been doing the exact opposite of hiding, really.

"Was always right in front of you," he tells her, grunting slightly as he thrusts into her warm, soft hand.

"Yeah, but I didn't know it was _Nate Queen_ standing there," she says with a bit of a laugh.

Hand jerking him or not, he freezes at that.

"What?" he asks blankly.

She's thrown by that, looking down at him like it's obvious, like surely he'd have figured this out. And, unfortunately… he's wondering if maybe he just has.

"You were… just this kinda cute, geeky junior," she tells him with a laugh and a smile. It's suddenly a whole lot less attractive than it has been these past few months. His heart drops as he pulls his hand from her shirt. "I didn't know you were Nate _Queen._ I didn't know you at all."

"But now you think you do because I'm Nate Queen," he says dully. His raging erection flags some, even _with_ her hand on him, because her words sink in and he starts to feel sick. "That's why you're here, doing this. It's why you asked me to drive you home. Someone told you my last name and that made me worth your time."

She actually looks affronted at that. "You couldn't even say _hi_ to me, Nate," she points out. "How was I going to find out anything else about you?"

That's a solid point, but it does nothing to renew his interest.

"I dunno," Nate sighs, sitting up, forcing her to slide off his lap into the passenger seat. He tucks himself back into his pants as he says, "I guess maybe by saying hi to me? By asking around… or whatever."

"I _did_ ask around," she retorts. "That's how I found out that you're Nate Queen and you have an awesome car."

"And that's… all you needed for all this?" he asks, gesturing between them.

"You weren't complaining a few minutes ago."

Yeah, but he'd also sort of built this up in his head into something it wasn't, something it had never been. And, if her sudden interest thanks to his last name and his car is any indication, something it never could have been.

"You're right," he admits. "And that was my mistake. I'm sorry for letting this get so far out of hand."

The incredulity on her face is unmistakable. "What are you even talking about? You've been staring at me for months and I'm totally happy to screw you right here and now and you're _apologizing_ and backing off? Is this, like… do you need me to be your girlfriend first? Because I will. You can tell everyone you're dating an older cheerleader and I can tell everyone I'm sleeping with Nate Queen whose car probably costs more than my first year of college will and whose cock would make my ex-boyfriend weep with jealousy. It's a win-win, Nate."

If his heart weren't already shattered to bits, that would have done it. She doesn't understand. Not at _all_. And he absolutely cannot believe the way this has all played out… but it has and he's just glad things didn't go further with her before he'd realized what was going on.

"You're beautiful, Cami," he tells her. "And I like you a lot." She smiles at that, reaching for him again, and he realizes definitively that she doesn't know him in the least, because she hasn't figured out the rest of what he's about to say. He stops her. "But I don't want to be with someone who's with me for my car or my last name. That's not enough for me."

She pulls back in confusion. "Nate…"

"I'm going to take you home," he says, starting the engine. "I'm really sorry for the misunderstanding."

"I don't get it," she tells him as he pulls out onto the main road. "You honestly just want to be with someone who likes you for being a dork? For... what, being captain of the debate club? For color coding his notes on actual index cards in French class or whatever?"

"Yeah," he tells her, offering her a chagrined glance. "I want to be with someone who likes me for who I am."

"And being a Queen isn't part of that?" she challenges

"It is," he agrees. "But that's not all of it."

They don't talk the rest of the drive to her house past her curt directions. When they get there, the air between them is uneasy, but Nate doesn't let it bother him. The realization that the awkwardness is entirely from her confusion dawns on him. He's not confused in the least. In fact, he thinks he's a whole lot clearer than he's been in months… maybe clearer than he's ever been.

"Thank you… for the ride," she says as she gets out of his car.

' _Thank you for the education'_ feels like a rude thing to say, so he just tells her, "You're welcome" instead and wishes her a good night. He waits until she's safely in her house before he pulls out of her driveway and it's only then that he lets himself really feel the sadness and frustration that's been brewing in him since the second she said his whole name.

He'd never thought… well, he'd never thought Cami was like that and it guts him to realize he'd never known her at all. Her smile… he'd liked her _smile_. He'd thought about ways he could earn that smile, ways to make her laugh, to make her _happy._ God, that sounds ridiculous to him now. He hadn't even really had any idea how to do that, though, hadn't known her well enough to know _what_ makes her smile, _what_ makes her laugh. His interest in her had been every bit as surface level as hers had been in him. A bit more wholesome, maybe, but every bit as shallow. And he thought he'd known her. He'd thought she was special. How could he have been so stupid?

Kicking on the virtually-never-used self-drive feature of his car, he stews in those feelings the whole way home, letting himself wallow in a way he couldn't have with her there. By the time he's walking through the door into the house, he just wants to lock himself away in his room, listen to that sappy music he'd _sworn_ to the guys he'd bought for his sisters, and mope.

Obviously, this is why his parents are both hanging out in the kitchen when he tries to walk through. Because the universe hates him.

"Nate!" his mother says, hopping off a barstool and trying to catch his eye, clearly reading his mood. "Honey, what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbles, eyes skittering past his mother to land on his dad.

There's a strange solidarity in his father's eyes and while Nate can't read him _exactly_ , he has the feeling his dad knows what happened. He thinks both his parents do and just the idea of that is enough to make him feel sick.

His mom tries to stroke his hair from his brow, but he catches her hand and squeezes it before letting go.

She sighs. "Oh, Nate…"

"I'm just gonna go to bed, I think," he announces. "It's late. I'll see you in the morning. Love you."

"Love you, too," his mom tells him, her shoulders drooping.

"Night, Nate," his dad echoes, a rich softness shining in his eyes when they meet briefly.

Nate takes the stairs two at a time, hurrying up to his room, desperate to put some distance between himself and his parents. He can already see them speculating on what had happened, can already hear what they're probably saying. God, he feels like such a moron. He really does.

When he reaches the sanctuary of his room, he feels like he can finally breathe. He closes the door way too hard, the slam of it emphasizing the end of what was supposed to be the best night of his life so far.

The relief is short-lived, though. Despite his words to his parents, he's not tired at all. And, now that he's finally _in_ his room, now that everything's finally over, he feels adrift. Aimless.

Nate stares at his bed, at his desk, at the clothes he'd left on the floor in his hurry that afternoon.

Just because it feels appropriate, he turns on some music. It's sad and slow and the woman's voice has a mournful quality to it that seems to come back into popularity every few years. It more than suits his mood. Nate flops down on his bed lengthwise to stare up at the ceiling, listening to the voice bemoan distance and time and misunderstandings.

He doesn't even bother taking off his shoes.

The song shifts a few minutes later to something even more fitting, throaty wails about heartbreak and betrayal, but Nate's heart sinks more when he realizes Cami hadn't betrayed him. Not really. _He'd_ been the one to make assumptions and jump to conclusions. She definitely hadn't hidden where her interests had lain.

He should probably be thankful for that.

It's two minutes into the song when there's a firm rap on his door.

Nate sighs because deep down he'd known this was coming.

"You can come in," he says without looking up.

The door creaks open, but it's not his mother's torrent of concerned babble that comes next. No, it's his father's heavy footfalls followed by a squeak from his desk chair. Nate rolls his head to the side to see his dad straddling the chair, arms folded across the back of it and his chin resting on his forearms.

"Hey, bud," he greets with a grim smile.

"Hey," Nate replies. He sighs again, his chest feeling heavier with each one. "I'm fine. I promise. I just had a crummy and really confusing day. That's all."

"Okay," his dad says. "I just wanted…" His voice trails off as the song switches over and he looks up toward the speakers built into the walls. "Are you listening to _Adele_?"

"What?" Nate asks with a laugh. He sits up, shaking his head. "No, that's…" Okay, this isn't actually something he can deny. "Fine. Yes, yes I am. I'm listening to Adele. Would you believe it's Ellie's?"

"Not remotely," his father deadpans.

Nate sighs again, his shoulders falling. "Yeah," he says, picking at the stitching on his plaid blue bedspread. He pulls on a thread until it unravels. "That's about my luck."

"Look, I know you said you didn't want to talk about it," his dad ventures tentatively. "But I thought maybe you just didn't want to talk about it in front of your mom."

"What?" Nate asks, furrowing his brow at his father. He's always been way closer with his mom, so he's not quite following. "Why?"

"Well… for one, your fly is down," his dad informs him. Nate looks down at his lap so hard and fast his neck kinks. He turns about four shades pinker as he quickly remedies that situation. "And for another, you've got lipstick all over the side of your neck."

Nate groans and falls back on his bed, throwing his arm over his face in a weak attempt to hide from the world. Of _course_ he has lipstick all over his neck. He can still feel her lips on him, making his skin itchy. He wishes his bed would just swallow him whole. That'd be awesome about now.

"You can tell me anything," his dad says. "You know that, right, Nate?"

Something about his voice is more intense than usual and Nate knows he means it. He _always_ knows he means it. They haven't always seen eye-to-eye and they really don't have much in common at all, but his dad would do anything for him. He doesn't think there's been a time in his life he ever doubted that.

He can't bring himself to look at him, though, as he nods without removing his arm. "Yeah, I know. Thanks."

"Good," his dad breathes out, sounding a little relieved. "That's good. And if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But if you do, that's fine, too."

It's complicated. Because, does he want to talk about the world's most embarrassing date with his father? Not really. But he also doesn't have much experience with girls - neither do his friends - but his father _does_. One extremely horrifying Google search a couple of years ago had proven that fact to him with far more clarity than he'd been prepared for. And, maybe more applicably, his dad knows what it's like to be a teenage Queen and navigate the world of girls.

For half a second, he contemplates calling his brother, or even Ellie or Jules, to talk to them instead. He's pretty sure any one of them would commiserate and offer their perspective. God knows all three of his siblings have had their own disastrous relationships.

But some part of him just wants his dad.

"It just… wasn't what I expected," Nate mutters. "That's all."

His dad kills the music, and for a long moment it's just silent. Eventually, Nate removes his arm from his eyes and turns his head to the side to look at his father. He can't quite decipher the look on his face, though.

"You, uh…" His dad stares at him. "You had your wallet with you?"

It feels like the world's weirdest non sequitur.

"Yeah…" Nate says slowly. "I was driving."

"Good," his dad replies shortly, before licking his lips and swallowing hard. "And you… used it appropriately?"

It takes Nate a moment to get what his father's saying, but once he does, the reality of it crashes into him and he sits up abruptly, his face turning a solid red.

 _Condoms_. His dad's talking to him about condoms. What a wonderful end to this fantastic day.

"That wasn't… it wasn't…" he starts, but he doesn't know what to say. He gestures soundlessly, as if his hands will make the words he needs appear out of thin air. "It wasn't like _that_ ," Nate finally manages.

"Oh thank god," his father sighs, his arms dropping off the back of the chair as tension bleeds out of him. "You're a responsible kid, Nate, and I trust you to make good choices, but girls have a way of making good judgement fly right out the window at your age."

Yeah, Nate's aware of how great his dad's 'judgement' was in his late teens and early twenties. The fact that Nate has a 30-year-old half-brother makes for even more vivid proof than a Google search. He kind of gets it - for a few minutes there, the only things that'd mattered were the overwhelming sensations filling him.

He might have given in, he thinks, if it'd been the right girl.

"I'm sorry your date didn't go well," his dad continues.

"That's kind of a massive understatement," Nate says. "It was a _disaster_."

"Any way I can help?" his father asks.

"Short of putting me in witness protection?" Nate questions. "Probably not."

"You sure?" his dad asks. "It's been a while, but I used to be pretty good at the whole dating thing."

Nate raises an eyebrow at him. "Not according to Big Sara," he says. She 's the master at subtle undertones and misdirection, just as much as she's blunt as hell sometimes. More than a few times she'd let a comment slip that colored in parts of his dad's history Google couldn't cover.

" _Fine_ ," his father huffs, having the nerve to look offended. "I learned a lot of it the hard way, but I did learn it. That's all I'm saying. So if you wanted to talk to someone who's been there…"

Nate pauses and chews his lip at that for a moment.

"Did you ever... " he begins before stopping himself. God, he can't believe he's actually going to say this, but he can't talk about it with his friends. He's not even sure he can talk about it with Ellie or Jules. Or William, even. Nate picks at his comforter again. "Did you ever go out with a girl who was only interested in you because you were a Queen?"

Part of him doesn't want to meet his father's eyes. He's embarrassed about this, which is ridiculous because he hadn't really done anything worth being embarrassed about. Still, the whole experience left him feeling sour and a bit ashamed. He'd honestly thought that Cami liked him for _him_.

When he does finally look to his dad, all he sees is sympathy without a trace of judgement.

"Yeah," he replies. "I definitely did."

Nate's not sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

"Your mom said you really liked this girl," his father adds.

Nate sighs. "I _did_."

"You didn't know that was why she was interested, huh?" his dad asks sadly.

"No," Nate grumbles, his cheeks burning as he admits, "not 'til she was sitting in my lap with my hand up her shirt."

"On a first date?" his dad asks, looking way more amused than Nate feels is fair. "Buddy… don't be me. You'll make a mess of things and you'll hurt yourself and lots of girls in the process before you figure it all out."

"I'm not," Nate argues, pushing his glasses up. "I just… it wasn't that it was _a_ girl. It was that it was _this_ girl… Cami. I've been trying to work up the nerve to just say hi to her for _months_ , Dad. And then she asked me out and the next thing I know we're in my car and she's kissing me and it's like she finally _saw_ me, you know? Only, all she saw was the name and the car and a chance to make her ex-boyfriend jealous."

His dad nods, but not in pity or because he's trying to cajole him. For the first time in a long time, Nate feels like he's seeing his dad through a different lens and it's… refreshing. And a little annoying that it's happening on _this_ night, but still, it's nice.

"That _does_ suck," his dad agrees. "I had pretty much the exact same thing happen to me at your age."

"You _did_?" Nate asks. "Really?"

"Well, I hadn't been trying to talk to her for months, but finding out mid-date that she was only after my name, money and a chance to make someone jealous?" Oliver asks. "Yeah, absolutely that happened. More than once."

"Well, what'd you do?" Nate asks, sitting up straighter and looking toward his dad for guidance.

It takes a moment for him to remember that his dad wasn't exactly the same person back then, nor was he really anything like Nate is today. The wince his dad gives and the tilt of his head to the side is a damned clear reminder that Nate and his father are wholly different people.

"I, uh…" Oliver scratches the back of his neck. "I was grateful to have my wallet with me."

"Aw… _Dad_ ," Nate pronounces with a scrunched nose and a shudder. "Thank goodness I have more sense than _you_ did."

For a long moment, his dad just stares at him with raised eyebrows as he puts some pieces to a puzzle Nate can't see together. For the life of him, Nate can't figure out why until his dad starts speaking again.

"Are you telling me that this girl - the one you've had a crush on for months - that she wanted to sleep with you…" Oliver blinks. "And you turned her _down_?"

The question makes Nate a little self-conscious. "Well… yeah," he answers uneasily. "What did you think happened?"

Oliver laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "I figured she changed her mind or set down some boundaries. You really turned down a girl you've been interested in all year?"

"I didn't want to be with someone who didn't want me for me." Nate gives him a one-shouldered shrug. "You know?"

The grin that spreads across his father's face makes him look years younger and the look of pride in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Nathaniel Queen," he says, shaking his head. "You're twice the man I was at your age and you're gonna be fine." His dad gets up, walking over to Nate. He kisses him on top of his head before ruffling his hair. "One day you're gonna find a girl who doesn't give a damn that you're a Queen or that you have money," Oliver promises him. "And she's going to be the luckiest girl in the world because you're one hell of a guy, Nate."

Nate's a good kid, and he knows it. He usually has his parents' approval, but never before has he had it so readily from his father quite like this.

He ducks his head, saying, "Thanks, Dad," to his toes. His father pats him on the shoulder before heading toward the door and Nate calls out, "Where are you going?"

"To tell your mother that you're fine, your date has no idea what she missed out on and that we have the best son in the world." He grins. "But I'm pretty sure she already knows that last part."

Nate rolls his eyes, but that doesn't mean the words don't mean the world to him. They do. It actually surprises him how deeply they hit him, how much this whole talk has helped.

"Thanks, Dad," he says again.

His father just nods before tilting his head back toward the speakers. "You want Adele back on?"

Nate thinks about it for a moment before shaking his head, smile still fixed on his lips. "Nah," he says. "I'm good."

And, to his amazement, he really, really is.


	18. October 2032

**Author's Note**

Please read!

This chapter contains a storyline that requires warnings for physical and psychological torture of minors (teens). It is not graphic (this story takes place immediately after the assaults) and aside from the characters in question being underage, I don't think it's any worse than what the show has done. I would also add, because I have been asked this every time I have written any kind of scene involving a woman being kidnapped or assaulted in any way, that there is absolutely no sexual assault of any kind. That's not something I am comfortable taking on in a story and it should not be inferred here.

That said, I understand that this is sensitive subject matter for some. If you choose to skip this week's, we completely understand. We will have a brief summary of vital details at the start of next week's very sweet and fluffy chapter.

All Our Love,

Janis and Bre

* * *

 **October 2032**

Sara Diggle hasn't said a word since the moment she got into her mother's car. It's not that there's nothing to say; it's that there's _too much_. She's so mad she can't even speak, so scared she can barely breathe. She feels too much all at once and she doesn't know how to sort through any of it.

The silence screams loudly, though. It fills her ears, making tiny, everyday hints of the world outside seem deafening. A car horn, the hum of the car's heater, her brother's jeans rustling where he shuffles in his booster seat in the back - the total absence of conversation heightens all of it. Right up until her mother sighs, that is, and pulls into the hospital parking garage. It's absurdly packed and Sara wonders how long they'll have to circle before finding a damned spot.

Her patience won't allow it to be long.

"Honey, if we'd told you-"

" _Don't_." She's so angry her voice quakes and it only amps up her ire more. Her whole being feels off-kilter; does her damned _voice_ really have to follow suit?

"There was nothing you could've done." Her mother is nothing if not stubborn and Sara, in her clearer moments, can admit she comes by that trait honestly. "We needed you and Connor safe."

"Ellie and Jules weren't safe!" Sara snaps, her anger boiling over. Blood rushes to her cheeks, the roar of her own pulse rushing through her veins pounds in her ears. "I could have helped! I could have been out there looking for them. I could have-"

Her mother abruptly hits the brakes, making the car rock as she stops in the middle of the ramp to the garage's third floor. "Why the hell do you think I didn't tell you?" she demands, turning to face her. She ignores the honking of a car horn behind them as she stares at her daughter. "I love you, Sara, but you are way too close to this. You being in the field would have put all of us in more danger, _including_ Ellie and Jules."

 _It's not true_. Sara wants to scream it at the top of her lungs, stomp her feet and deny her mother's words with every last breath in her body. Even though a quiet voice in the back of her head whispers that her mother might have a point, Sara pushes it away, shoving it down and pushing herself forward.

"I'll be eighteen in two weeks," she points out, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. "Good luck keeping me locked away then."

"Sara," her mother starts, but the teenage girl ignores it, pushing open the door and stepping out. " _Sara_ , what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to be there for the people who need me," Sara snaps back, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. "I'll see you up there."

The teen solidly ignores her mother's barely audible creative swearing as she heads toward the parking garage stairwell. Part of her almost feels bad. She knows why her parents made the decision they did and she's well aware that it wasn't out of any kind of malice or mistrust. They wanted her safe. They wanted control over the situation, as much as they could have it.

But, damn it, this is _Ellie_! And Sara had been sitting in class doing _homework_ while her best friend in the whole world had been kidnapped.

She blames herself, she realizes as she tromps down the stairs as quickly as she can, her sneakers squeaking against the smooth concrete. It's ridiculous because she couldn't have known what was going on. Sure, it was a bit weird that neither Ellie nor Jules were at school that morning. She'd figured _something_ was up, but it's not like her mind should have realized immediately, 'Oh, clearly my best friend has been kidnapped.'

Except this is their lives. Except there's been an ever-present danger in every shadow since before any of them were born. Except, if she _had_ connected the dots and called her mom and dad right away, maybe they'd have found her sooner.

Maybe she wouldn't have been hurt at all.

Sara swallows down the sick feeling that creeps up the back of her throat. She ignores the tears burning her eyes as she hikes her backpack further up her shoulder, finally reaching the bottom floor. Wrenching the door open, she spills out of the stairwell and onto the street. She jogs across the crosswalk to the hospital entrance. Fall leaves crinkle under her feet and there's a solid bite to the October air, but she barely notices either. She's too in her own head for that right now.

The doors to the hospital slide open before her and she's in an elevator before she even has time to think about it. She knows the layout of this place well, after all these years. It's not like either of her parents are infrequent visitors, given the work they do.

Before long, the elevator dings and she takes an immediate right when she gets off. She knows exactly where to go, not needing the large colored stripes on the floor to guide. She finally rounds a corner that will take her where she wants to be…

The moment she does, though, her feet stop dead in their tracks.

She'd been so dedicated on getting here, so single-minded about it, that she never stopped to consider what it would be like when she did.

The sight before her blurs her focus, throws her even _more_ off kilter, because all of a sudden it's a lot more real.

Jules sits on an oversized chair in the hall, bandages wrapped around her wrists and body practically swimming in a dull blue-grey hospital gown, as she stares at a closed door. Nate's curled up against her, looking like he's trying to bury himself in her presence. He seems so much smaller than ten, right now. They _both_ look like lost, little children. Nate's saying something quietly to Jules, but she doesn't even look his way, much less respond. After a moment of silence, he tucks himself under her arm and pulls it tightly around himself. Jules allows it, but she also does nothing to encourage it.

She just… sits.

Sara's feet are moving before her brain can catch up.

"Hey," she says. Her voice sounds odd to her own ears - raspy and worn, which is the opposite of true - earning her both Nate and Jules' attention. Sara's stomach pitches when Jules looks up at her.

It's more like she's looking through her, like she's not really there.

"Sara!" Nate declares. He lets Jules' arm fall away and barrels down the hall into Sara's arms, letting out a little sob as she wraps both arms around him and strokes his hair. He might not have been taken - and thank _God_ for that; she can't imagine sweet little Nate in that position - but it's clear he's in desperate need of comfort right now.

"I got here as soon as I could," she tells him, cradling the back of his head. He responds by leaning into her; she bears his weight entirely, playing the part of the pillar of support he so obviously craves right now. She looks up to find Jules is still staring at her with the same frighteningly expressionless look on her face. "Where is everyone?"

Jules just blinks for a second before going back to staring at the door in front of her.

Sara suddenly finds it hard to breath as she follows her gaze, her hands shaking as she grips Nate.

Ellie's behind that door, she knows it as much as she knows she's holding Nate right now, and she's hurt. _Badly._ Every inch of Sara's being tells her to go to her best friend, to prove to herself that she's going to be okay, to hold onto her because she came _so close_ to losing her forever. But she doesn't. She freezes, utter terror holding her in place. She can't move. She can't do it. Opening that door and walking through that threshold makes it _real_. It means Ellie and Jules had really been kidnapped, they'd really been held against their will and tortured by a madman. Her mom might have been light on the details, but Sara had long ago learned to read between the lines.

"Grandma Moira went to take a call from Uncle Roy," Nate replies. "He kept trying to get through, but Grandma's cell wouldn't work in here. Your dad had to… get back to the place, with the stuff from today." The lair, he means. Nate pauses before adding, "Mom and Dad are in there with Ellie."

"They left you two out here alone?" Sara asks.

"Yup," Jules says dryly, speaking for the first time, sparing Sara another look. Her eyes are painfully dead, and it's enough to send a shiver slithering down Sara's spine. It's the kind of closed off she hasn't seen from Jules in _years_.

"Grandma and Uncle Digg were supposed to stay with us," Nate says, looking up at her with wide eyes. "They just stepped away for a minute and Mom and Dad will be back. The doctor wanted to talk to them."

The thought of the doctor needing to talk to them about Ellie's wellbeing socks her in the gut and just like that, a surge of adrenaline spikes through her. The almost irresistible urge to throw herself at Ellie's door takes over - she just needs to see her, to just _make sure_ for herself that she's okay.

She wants to so bad she can taste it.

But she stays put anyhow.

Sara blinks hard, staring at the door before giving Nate a nod. And then she looks back to Jules' vacant gaze. She can't storm into Ellie's room when the doctor's in there with her parents, no matter how much she wants to. But Nate and Jules both need someone right now, too. Even if one of them is a whole lot more up front about that than the other.

"Give me a second, Nate," Sara says, squeezing his shoulder before letting go of him and walking over to Jules. Nate hangs behind in the middle of the hall, aware that this part of the conversation really isn't for him. He looks so lost, so small, and Sara's heart hurts for all of them. She squeezes into the seat next to Jules. "You okay?" she asks quietly.

"Always am," Jules replies. Her voice is dull, empty and it sends another chill right down Sara's spine.

"Jules…" Sara's hand brushes the bandage on the other girl's wrist and Jules flinches, pulling her arm away. "Shouldn't you be in a hospital bed?"

"Ellie's the one in the bed," Jules tells her. "I'm fine in a chair. The focus is on her… where it should be."

There's something about the way she says it, a distant resignation that sits poorly with Sara, and despite the fact that she and Jules have never been particularly close, she still considers them friends. Concern wells up, leaves her needing to fill in the gaps to what's going on with the girl. She'd feel that way even if it weren't for Ellie, but she also knows that Ellie would be worried for Jules.

Ellie can't be there for her right now, so Sara sure as hell is going to be.

"They said…" Sara starts, breaking off and shaking her head as she fortifies herself. "My mom said you were both chained to the floor. She said there was a knife…"

"She'll live," Jules replies, misreading Sara's question. "He… Ellie's neck will have a scar. And she lost a lot of blood. It looked like so much blood…" She looks down at her hands and flexes her fingers. For the first time, Sara sees how sore the other girl's skin looks, like she'd scrubbed the flesh of hands until they'd grown raw. Sara's breath catches in her throat. _Ellie's blood_. Jules had been trying to get all of Ellie's blood off of her hands. Sara cringes, her stomach revolting at the very idea of Ellie's blood being anywhere but inside her body where it belongs, before forcing herself to refocus on Jules.

The other girl's hands shake.

Watching her now, Sara wonders if she realizes she did get all the blood off.

"She'll live," Jules repeats, setting her hands down gently in her own lap. The movement is jarring, like watching a robot learning how to use its limbs for the first time, not that Jules seems to notice. She just goes back to looking back at the door in front of her.

"And you?" Sara asks softly. She wants to take Jules' hand, to wrap an arm around her, but the other girl is the most defensive and closed-off Sara can remember and she knows without a doubt that would not be welcome right now. It'd probably make things worse.

"He didn't hurt me," Jules tells her absently. "I wasn't the one he cared about."

That makes no sense in Sara's head, but she lets it slip past because there's so much Jules isn't saying and the picture doesn't make sense in Sara's head so far.

"What _did_ he do to you?" Sara asks. The second the words are out, she wants to take them back. She can't think of a more intrusive question and she has never been the person Jules would lean on, but it's already out there. Jules' face cracks, so slightly it's barely noticeable, but it's enough, and Sara wonders if maybe Jules needs to answer it, to herself even if she doesn't say it aloud.

"He talked," she finally says, looking at Sara. "A lot. One truth after another."

Sara frowns. "What does that-" she starts, but her question is cut off by a new voice in the hall.

" _Jules_."

Will damn near barrels down the hall, heading straight for them. Jules is back to moving in slow motion as she looks up, but the way her breath hitches when she sees who's saying her name gives her away. The instant he reaches her, Will pulls his sister up out of her seat, gathering her up in his arms. He lets out a sob of relief, closing his eyes as he presses his face into her hair, breathing in his little sister's scent. "Oh my god, Jules."

"I'm okay," she says, her voice cracking.

It's the first sliver of emotion Sara's seen from the other girl since she got here and it's the only one she lets out. Jules purses her lips together tightly and ducks her head, pressing her cheek into her brother's chest. It's all she allows herself, as close as she'll come to opening up. It's strange for Jules to be so reserved with Will, of all people. She's _always_ been closest with him.

Will must find it strange too, because he backs off slightly to look at her. He cups her face, tilting it upward, so she looks at him. She doesn't want to. That much is obvious. Her hands are shaking more as they settle over his and she sucks in a nervous breath, but she doesn't pull his hands away or step back.

Instead, she looks up at her brother with barely concealed terror. She's been affected by this so much deeper than she wants to admit and she knows he will see it, but she also can't seem to look away.

Sara can see Will's heart breaking all over his face but he covers it by taking a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the bandages on her wrists. When he looks her in the eye again, it's all intensity and determination.

"Are you?" he asks. It's more of a challenge, and Jules absolutely takes it that way. "Jules, whatever happened, whatever he did-"

"I'm _fine_ ," Jules tells him a little too harshly. She blinks hard and taking a steadying breath. "I am. The bandages are… we were tied up. There were chains. And I tried to get free to help Ellie, but I couldn't. My wrists are just cut up. I did that myself. He didn't want to hurt me. Just Ellie. I'm fine. It was about Ellie."

It's impossible to miss how concerned he is, which tells Sara she'd been _right_. There's a whole lot more going on with Jules than she'd tried to let on.

"Julie," Will says with a short, humorless laugh before pinching his eyes shut and kissing her forehead. "I'm not even fine. I know you're not either. And that's okay. We'll be okay. Just don't shut yourself away, alright? You're so brave and so strong. Stronger than me. I can't even begin to tell you how scared I was."

Jules' face crumples as she lets out a little sniffle. She chokes down a sob, her nose turning red as she nods wordlessly. It's a tiny motion, though, and Sara can't help but wonder how much she means it. Will seems to sense the same thing because he pulls her close, hugging her tightly, trying to engulf her with what he wants her to understand instead of speaking it. His bulk overwhelms her, making her look so very small.

Nate hovers a few feet away from his siblings and Will must see him out of the corner of his eye because he reaches out with one hand and pulls the younger boy into a hug with them. The ten-year-old burrows into the embrace, digging his face into Will's abdomen.

The moment doesn't last, though, as Moira Queen reenters the hall.

Will immediately stiffens in his grandmother's presence as she freezes, adopting an absurdly prideful look. She's aged gracefully, the only signs her silver-laced white hair and her thinner frame. But even if there was more, her attitude would easily make up for it as she stands taller in the face of her estranged grandson.

It's good to see some things are normal, anyhow.

"William," the mayor greets primly. The hall drops several degrees and Sara shudders. "I was unaware you were here."

"Where else would I be?" he asks, letting go of his sister and brother to step between them and his grandmother. Sara doesn't miss the way Nate wraps himself around Jules, clinging to her. Jules just watches them blankly, her arms limp at her sides. "Where were _you_? She was just _kidnapped_ and you left her alone with her baby brother? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Nate's "I'm not a baby!" protest goes completely ignored as Will squares off against the Queen matriarch. Sara's pretty sure he's been spoiling for a fight since the moment he found out his sisters were in danger and Moira's presence only serves to make that impulse worse. She's always brought out the worst in him.

Moira narrows her eyes. "I don't like your tone," she says, stepping closer. "Or your implications, for that matter."

"Screw implications," Will snaps, his voice echoing down the long hallway. "I'm saying it flat out. You can't even stick around to support your traumatized teenage granddaughter. You're the worst excuse for a relative I can even _begin-_ "

"I don't care for your accusations today, William," she interrupts. "And I don't have the energy for them." She waves at Jules, her facade cracking ever so slightly as she says, "Julianna is _fine_ \- although what she's doing out of a bed, I haven't a clue." Will bristles, glaring at her, like _she's_ the one who forced Jules out of bed. Moira looks back to him. "Can we not do this today? I am not the monster you think me to be, regardless of what your mother might have told you."

"Oh…" Sara breathes, wincing, her eyes snapping to William.

That was the absolutely _wrong_ thing to say. Even _she_ knows that. But Moira Queen is stubborn to a fault, and while Sara's sure she's hurting as bad as everyone else, she can't seem to help the patronizing tone she always takes on whenever Will appears.

Sara braces for the fallout as Will takes a step toward his grandmother.

"Don't you _dare_ bring my moth-"

The door to Ellie's room opening cuts him off as his father steps out.

"What is going on out here?" Oliver demands, looking between his oldest child and his mother. They both wilt, sheepish and even a little ashamed that their ongoing spat reared its head _now_.

Sara Diggle has known Oliver Queen her entire life. Despite the fact that he's well into the latter half of his 40s and nearly all his hair is gray, he's never once looked old to her until this moment. There's an exhaustion that's more emotional than physical etched into his face. His eyes are bloodshot and the smile lines she so often sees on his face are nowhere to be found.

It brings out a fresh sense of panic that races through Sara's blood and she's up and stepping towards him before she can think. "Ellie?" she asks. Everyone looks at her, but she only has eyes for Oliver. "Is she okay?"

Her question seems to both deflate the tension and amplify the fear-fueled stress in the air. And isn't that what's driving the animosity in the too-loud battle between Will and Moira? But as many problems as there are, the only thing Sara wants is to see her best friend.

"Yeah," Oliver replies, his voice too soft. His shoulders fall. "She is now." The way he says it is chilling, like there'd been a whole lot of question about that for a while. He seems to collapse into himself even more as he continues, "She, uh…"

He cuts himself off, though, as a doctor appears behind him, exiting the room. The man puts a comforting hand on Oliver's shoulder, offering him a sympathetic smile as he pulls the door shut behind him.

"I'll be back later to check on her," the doctor says.

"Thank you," Oliver replies, giving him all he can muster for a smile at the moment. The doctor nods, more than understanding, before leaving the fractured family alone. Oliver scrubs his face and takes a fortifying breath and says the rest on an exhale. His voice cracks. "She lost a lot of blood. She was in shock when we got her here. They had to do a blood transfusion. They, uh… they didn't have enough in stock, but Felicity has the same blood type, so she volunteered. It was enough. For now."

Sara's chest hollows out. _For now._ What does that mean? For a split second, Sara's entire world narrows down to trying to remember what her blood type is. She knows it - her parents made sure of that - but she can't remember it. A quiet, logical part of her knows she and Ellie aren't compatible, but _what if?_ Sara wrings her hands. She has to do _something_.

"It's… she doesn't look good." Oliver sighs, but then he smiles at Sara. It's so tired, so heavy, but it's _real_. Shaky and a little uncertain, but it's real. "But she's okay. She's better. Ellie's better." The words seem to trip him up and his smile falters. Sara's heart practically falls out of her chest, because she can't tell if he's trying to convince them or himself. "She's going to be fine."

"Oh, Oliver," Moira whispers, a hand pressed to her mouth.

"There was so much blood," Jules mutters, staring blindly at the wall, lost in her own memories.

Will can't seem to decide who needs his attention most. He settles for wrapping an arm around Jules as he looks at his father. "Where's her chart?" he asks.

"Son…" Oliver shakes his head, barely getting the words out. "You don't want to see it."

"I see blood loss all the time, Dad. I do this for a living, remember? I'll know exactly what the doctor's saying."

"That's why I don't want you to see it," Oliver replies, his voice weak and tear-filled, saying everything he refuses to out loud.

It was bad, so much worse than she could comprehend. It's enough to make Sara stumble backward until she finds she's hit the chair she was sitting in earlier.

Will tries again. "Dad…"

"She lost consciousness in the car," Oliver interrupts. It doesn't escape Sara's notice that Jules nods at that where she continues to stare at nothing. "Her pulse was weak, her skin was clammy…" Oliver's voice dies and he closes his eyes for a second before leveling his son with a look. "Will, you really don't want the details."

There's something desperate about the way Will shakes his head, like he can't believe anything he's being told until he _knows_ , until he _sees_ it for himself. He was so strong a moment ago, but now with his dad here, telling him facts, but not the right ones… Sara wonders if Will knows how hard he's holding Jules as he bites out, "Were her lips and nails blue?"

"Will…"

He doesn't want to say it.

"Dad, I can't not know how bad it-"

" _Yes_ ," Oliver says, cutting him off again. It's sharp, his voice rough and as terrified as Sara's ever heard it. "Yes. And her breathing was thready and shallow and… It was _bad_ , Will, okay? But she's okay now, and that's all that matters."

That should be a comfort, but it's not as Will shakes his head - it's like he can't stop - as he starts talking. "You can't know that," he whispers. "Dad, she was in hypovolemic shock. She might be stable now, but there's the risk of organ failure or a heart attack or-"

"Damn it, Will," Oliver snaps, so loudly Nate starts to cry. Sara grabs him, pulling the terrified boy close. Later she won't be sure if she did that for him or for her. Pain, regret and guilt flash over Oliver's face as he glances at his youngest, but he doesn't move. His voice is frighteningly low as he says, "She's _fine_. I know because I've seen this injury before."

Incredulity covers Will's face. "I get that you've seen a lot, Dad, but just because it presents the same doesn't mean her body's going to react the same. There are dozens-"

"No," Oliver corrects. "I've seen _this_ injury before. Exactly this injury, on the other… The other Ellie has a scar identical to our Ellie's wound."

"What? But that…" Will pauses. "That's… Okay, but you can't know that it happened the same way."

"Yes, we can," Jules says blankly. "She told us."

"What?" Will asks, looking down at his sister in confusion.

"She was here," Jules replies, meeting his eyes without an ounce of emotion showing. "She came back to save herself, to save this Ellie."

"And you," Sara adds without thinking.

Jules blinks at Sara. "Sure," she agrees. "I was there. So, Ellie saved me, too."

"She's here?" Moira asks in a near whisper, stepping forward to grab his sleeve. "Oliver, the other Ellie's here?"

"She was," Oliver says, giving her a sympathetic smile. "But she had to get home, Mom. The man who took the girls…" It hurts him to even say the words. "He's from her timeline. She had to bring him back and seal off the breach he created."

The disappointment on Moira's face is obvious and Jules lets out a little huff, shaking her head.

Oliver catches it. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something before changing his mind. "Jules," he says instead, "the doctor wanted you to stay in bed."

"I've done enough sitting in one place today," she counters. "He didn't hurt me. I don't need a doctor."

"Sweetheart…" Oliver sighs, stepping toward her, but she instantly steps back. He immediately halts as she moves away from her father, away from her brothers, away from all of them into a space all her own. She wraps her arms around herself, pinning her father with a hard glare.

"I'm fine, Dad," she bites out. "What I need is space."

Oliver is crestfallen at that declaration, torn, and Sara knows the instant she sees him turn to Will, a lost look on his face, that he's hanging on by a thread, that he has absolutely no idea how to deal with any of this. He's the Arrow, a state senator, the mayor's son and the husband of a fortune 500 CEO. But for all the power he wields, today was so far outside his control that he must feel like the rug's been pulled out from under him. Shades of his worst nightmares have played out in front of him all day long and the strain of that is readily visible.

"Okay," he replies after a minute. "Okay, you can have space, if that's what you need. But… baby, please just go lie back down? Please let the doctors take care of you? I know you say you're fine, and maybe you are, but I just… Sweetheart, for me. _Please_."

"And for me," Will echoes.

Jules' eyes dart to Will at that, a dark look of something Sara can't even begin to name flitting over her features. But something in the combined plea must work because after a long silence, she finally nods. Oliver lets out a muted sigh of relief as Jules scratches absently at the back of her bandage. It must be harder than she intends, because she hisses in pain when her nails scrape over her wounds.

"Will can sit in the corner…" she ventures with a shrug. "If he wants."

" _I want you close, but not too close. I don't want to make it seem like I want it_ ," is what Sara hears.

It echoes the Jules she'd known as a little girl and a sense of foreboding slips down Sara's spine.

"Okay," Will immediately agrees. "Okay. I'll go with you, Jules."

She nods and turns to go back to a room down the hall. His eyes linger desperately on Ellie's partially open door for a moment and Sara has the distinct sense that he wishes more than anything he could be in two places at once. Will pauses long enough to say, "Get me if anything changes with Ellie," before following in Jules' wake.

"Is Mommy okay?" Nate asks, his terrified little voice breaking through the odd quiet that Jules and Will have left behind.

"She's fine, Nate," Oliver tells him. "She didn't get hurt."

"But… she gave Ellie her blood," Nate points out, looking between his dad and his grandmother. "She still has enough for her, right?"

"Oh, Nate," Oliver sighs. In spite of the older man's exhaustion and that the ten-year-old is really too big for it, he steps forward with a gentle, "C'mere, buddy," and scoops the boy into his arms. The fear of the day fast overwhelms Nate once he's in his father's arms and he bursts out in wet, desperate sobs against his dad's shoulder. "Mom's fine. The doctors made sure not to take too much, okay? She's just tired and she forgot to eat lunch. They gave her the room next to Ellie to take a nap and give her some fluids. Did you want to see her?"

Nate hesitates, looks from Ellie's room to the one next door with indecision tearing him in two.

"Go see your mom," Oliver tells the boy. "Grandma will go with you, okay? Ellie should rest more before you see her. The doctor doesn't want too many people in there at once anyway."

"She's really gonna be okay?" Nate asks, looking his dad in the eye, desperate to hear the words again.

"She really will," Oliver promises, sounding far more convincing this time. "You can see her in a bit. Just… let her get a some rest first. I know Mom will feel better to have you with her. She could use a hand to hold right now and I need to be with Ellie. So, that's your job, okay? You hold your mom's hand and I'll hold Ellie's. We can switch later."

That's a heavy enough responsibility that Nate goes along with it. He nods as his father puts him down before looking at Moira.

"Mom," Oliver says with an exhausted sigh. "Can you take him to see Felicity? I don't really… he needs to see his mom and we should give Ellie some time to… rest."

" _To look more like herself_ ," Sara thinks. That's what he's not saying. He doesn't want to scare his son with the sight of his incredibly pale, suddenly-weak, bedridden sister. The thought alone is making her chest start to feel heavy.

"Of course," his mother agrees, reaching out a hand for her grandson. Nate takes it easily, allowing her to tug him along. It's such a stark difference from his brother.

The moment his mother and son disappear behind the door to the next room, Oliver's shoulders sag. He closes his eyes, letting out a tremendous sigh. For a second, Sara wonders if he's forgotten she's there.

"Where's your mom?" he asks, shattering that illusion. He opens his eyes a second later to fix his gaze on her.

"Parking," Sara replies. "In theory."

"In practice?" he asks.

"Circling the parking garage for an empty space and probably considering hotwiring a car to move just so she's got a spot," Sara answers. She doesn't really care where her mom is. What she cares about is a dozen feet away behind a closed door. She stands again, stepping closer. "Can I see her?"

He had to have known she was going to ask, but he stands stock still, weighing her request anyhow.

"Please, Uncle Oliver?" Sara asks. She sounds young and needy, but she can't help it. "I'll let her rest and I know she'll look worse than she is. I can deal with that. I'm eighteen this month, practically an adult. And I know they probably said family only, but-"

"You are family," Oliver cuts her off. It's startling how much gratitude hits her at that firm declaration. "I've known you every day of your life, Sara. You're family to me and I sure as hell know you're family to Ellie."

It strikes Sara that she hadn't known just how much she needed to hear that today, but she really, really had.

"Okay," Oliver decides aloud, raking his hands through his silver hair. "She's been in and out a lot, but maybe she'll rest easier if she knows you're there."

Sara stands a bit straighter at that, nodding fiercely and adjusting her hold on her backpack. Her fingers have a death grip on the strap so much that her knuckles hurt, but she needs _something_ to hold onto, something to ground herself in this moment, and that will do.

With yet another weary sigh, Oliver turns back to the room. His hand rests on the doorknob, but before he turns it, he looks back to her. "It was close, Sara," he says. He stares at her, trying to make her understand. "A few minutes more and… It was close. And she looks it."

"I can handle it," Sara tells him. "I _want_ to handle it. I need to be there for her. She would be for me."

Oliver surprises her by offering up a small smile. "I have absolutely no doubt that that's true," he says. Without another word, he opens the door and gestures for her to enter the room.

Sara takes three steps into the bleak hospital room and stops.

"She already looks better," Oliver says from behind her as he shuts the door with a quiet snick.

"This is better?" Sara chokes out, looking back at her best friend's father.

"Yeah," he confirms, a pained look gracing his face as he looks past her to his injured daughter. "It is."

That can't possibly be true. She's never seen Ellie so pale, so devoid of life. There's a huge bandage on her neck and an IV in her arm and a cannula in her nose. She's asleep, but Sara has to stare a long time to see her chest move at all, to prove that she's really breathing. She's so still, and it feels so wrong.

"Felicity didn't want to leave her," he adds, crossing the room to a chair at his daughter's side.

He doesn't elaborate on what happened to make her leave, and Sara doesn't ask. She's afraid to - did she freak out, or did she pass out giving blood? Did people do that?

Sara's eyes dart to him. It's always seemed to Sara that her Uncle Oliver carried the weight of the world on his shoulders - or maybe just the weight of the city - but she's never seen him bow under it. Not until today. It's almost frightening how human that makes him seem, how _normal_. She wonders if this is what being an adult will be like, to see beneath the masks of confidence and certainty that everyone seems to wear.

Now that he's back by Ellie's side, though, now that he's near his daughter again, _seeing_ with his own two eyes that she's okay, he seems… better. Stronger. It's fortifying and comforting in a way Sara didn't even realize she needed to see.

"You can sit with her, too, you know," Oliver says. It's only then that Sara realizes she's still barely standing inside the room, her sneakers rooted in place on a square of mottled linoleum flooring. "She's pretty medicated… antibiotics and pain meds, something to help her platelet levels. She should sleep for a while."

"I thought you said she was in and out a lot?" Sara asks. She forces her feet to carry her forward to Ellie's bedside, but every step takes effort, like she's slogging through quicksand. Ellie looks even more ashen up close. Sara tells herself that's really just the horrible hospital lighting, but she's not sure she believes that.

"She's a fighter, my Ellie-bug," Oliver says, kissing his daughter's fingertips. "Even when she shouldn't be, she's a fighter."

The closer she gets, the more her whole world narrows down to Ellie. All she sees is her best friend's limp hand held tightly in her father's soft grip, the colorless hue of her skin, the way her body looks so very tiny against the clinical hospital bed.

Every inch closer she gets to Ellie, Sara finds her frustration mounting. This is wrong. This is _wrong_. They're supposed to be at volleyball practice right now. Ellie should be ribbing her about her spike and laughing in that way that lights up the whole room. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be like this.

Sara doesn't even realize she's moving until she finds herself collapsing into the chair across from Oliver at Ellie's side. She reaches for Ellie's free hand, but finds she can't unclench her fist. Her knuckles are so tight they hurt and her jaw is so tense it feels unmovable, so she grits her teeth as she lets the back of her hand brush against the skin of Ellie's fingers.

When the other girl doesn't respond, something inside Sara breaks, a torrent of fear and frustration and anger coming out in a muffled sob. She turns, burying her face in her own shoulder as her eyes burn hot with tears.

To his credit, her Uncle Oliver knows her well enough to pretend not to notice. Sara is not the sort to unburden herself on others and she'd just as soon spare herself the embarrassment of someone else acknowledging them.

But anger… anger is different. Anger she can share.

"I want to kill him."

She exhales the words through thinned lips so quietly that she's not sure for a moment that he even heard her.

"Me too," he agrees a beat past when she'd have expected an answer, his voice every bit as quiet as hers had been.

Sara nods hard. Brushing hard at her watery eyes with the hand that isn't touching Ellie - she can't move that one; she won't - she looks at Oliver to find him already looking at her. Their eyes lock. He's got to be every bit as angry as her, more angry even, but he doesn't look it. He just looks sad and it eats away at Sara's insides like acid. Because how can he sit here? How can he push back the need to follow after the man who'd hurt Ellie and slit _his_ throat?

"You should have," Sara bites out, not caring that this conversation will likely get back to both of her parents. "You should have driven an arrow through his neck and left him to bleed out on that warehouse floor."

Her words don't stun him. They don't disappoint him or convince him or anger him. No, his reaction is far more infuriating than that. He _smiles_ at her, thin and compassionate, and Sara wants to scream until her voice runs raw because this is the only response she really, truly didn't want.

"Ellie and Jules needed me," he tells her after a moment. "Helping them is always more important than hurting someone else."

"Is that a rule of wearing a mask?" Sara snarks.

"No, Sara," he replies, shaking his head at her. "It's a rule of being a father."

She doesn't know what to say to that. It's such a stark reminder of what he's done - of the life he's led and how much he'd nearly lost today - that shame washes through her at her own self-righteousness. Ellie's her friend, her _best_ friend, but she's Oliver's daughter. And whatever she's feeling, she knows he must feel it ten-fold. She can't even begin to imagine that, but it has to be true. Ellie and her dad are so close.

"I'm sorry," Sara grits out, looking back to Ellie's hand. After a second, she manages to loosen her fists so that her index finger runs across the back of the other girl's hand.

"Don't be," Oliver replies. "I can't be upset that my little girl has a friend who loves her that much. I never could be. I'm so glad that you two have each other."

She can feel Oliver looking at her, but she doesn't look up this time. She just nods. There's too much going on in her head and Sara can barely process her own desperation and anger. She has no desire to share more of it. She's so very on edge right now and it feels like any little thing just might become too much to handle.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks after several long minutes with no sound beyond the frustratingly generic sounds of the machines hooked up to Ellie.

Sara's voice is rough as she replies, "You can ask." The " _I might not answer"_ goes unsaid.

"Jules," he says, swallowing hard and squeezing Ellie's fingers before looking at her. "What did she say to you in the hall?"

Sara looks up at him, the question taking her by surprise. It probably shouldn't. If she feels on the edge of breaking, she has to wonder if he isn't a few steps past that. His eyes are so haunted, so pained and guilty. For all that Ellie is Sara's primary focus, the question and that look are a stark reminder that half of Oliver's heart is across the hall with the other daughter he'd nearly lost.

"Not much," Sara replies. "She was pretty closed off. It reminded me…"

"Of how she used to be," Oliver finishes. His whole body sags when he breathes out. Sara's not sure she's ever seen him so defeated. It's jarring. "Sara... "

He pauses, shutting his eyes. He takes a breath, but it's shaky rather than fortifying and when he locks gazes with her again, every single ounce of terror and pain is horrifying visible, like he's dropped a wall and he's willingly showing the turmoil behind it.

"You two are friends," he reminds her. "Not… not like you and Ellie. I know you aren't that close, but you're friendly, and she's your age." He pauses, licking his lips, and she wonders where he's going with this. "She won't talk to me. Didn't say a word the whole ride here. She just stared at Ellie with this vacant stare and… Sara, if she tells you _anything_ , anything at all about what happened, please, _please_ tell me. I want to help her - I need to help her - but she won't tell me what happened. The doctor said physically she's fine other than her wrists, but…"

"She hurt them trying to get to Ellie," Sara blurts out. She'd have told him anyhow, but the sheer desperation in his voice is just too much for her to handle and she needs something to get him to stop talking before she's pulled right down with him.

"Jules told you that?" he asks, a glimmer of hope shining through the desolation in his eyes. "She said that?"

"Yeah," Sara replies. "Nate was there, too. She might talk to him. Or maybe Will. _Probably_ Will. But she said she and Ellie were both tied up and he only wanted to hurt Ellie. She fought to get to her sister and hurt herself doing it… How bad are her wrists?"

He doesn't answer right away, just looks at his own hands like maybe they've failed him. "She'll probably have scars, too," he finally says.

The answer is heavy enough that Sara can't find words to follow up with, but Oliver saves her the burden because he's not done asking questions.

"Was there anything else?" he asks. "Every time anyone's asked her what happened, what he did, all she's said is that he hurt Ellie and did nothing to her."

"She said the same to me," Sara confirms, replaying the conversation in her head. "She said all he did was talk to her."

"Talk to her?" Oliver asks. His voice is alert and honed in, all razor-sharp with hard edges. "About what? What did he say?"

"She said… 'true things'," Sara replies, trying to pull the words out of her memory - it's foggy; today has been such a blur - but the answer clearly brings Oliver no relief. "That's all she said. No specifics."

"If she says anything else…"

"I'll tell you," Sara confirms. "But… Uncle Oliver… I'm not sure about this, but I don't think you should wait for her to talk about it. I don't know that she will."

"Yeah," he agrees, running a hand through his hair. He's lucky he's not losing it, with how often he's done that today alone. "I know that. Jules is… I love that girl so damned much, but she will shut down and she will lash out."

"She will," Sara agrees. Silence descends. A moment later, her curiosity gets the best of her. "What do you think he said to her?"

"I think he knew how to hit her where it hurts most," Oliver confides. His voice is quiet, almost childlike, and it's haunting. "I think he told her that she didn't matter, that Ellie was the only reason he was here. I think he told my little girl over and over again that she was worthless. And I think she believed it."

The likelihood of that slithers across Sara's skin, leaving a shiver in its wake. At around eight years old or so, she can remember Jules shunning Ellie. The younger girl had been so confused, so hurt. She hadn't even _done_ anything, she'd protested, but that hadn't stopped Jules from being mean anyhow. Uncle Oliver and Aunt Felicity hadn't let that stand, had redirected the older girl with gentle but firm guidance. Sometimes it worked better than others. " _You never wanted me anyhow_ " had been Jules' go-to refrain in those days. Sara's not sure the last time she heard that; the change in Jules since those years is remarkable. But it hadn't been sudden.

She's left wondering if maybe Jules' wounds from today weren't every bit as brutal as Ellie's.

"There's so much the girls can't say about their lives," he says, shaking his head. "So much they keep secret for my sake. They suffer so much because of it."

Sara can see where this is going and she knows without a single doubt precisely what Ellie would say to her father right now, were she awake. But she's not. Sara's always had Ellie's back. That's not about to change now.

"They're safer because of you, Uncle Oliver," she tells him firmly. Her fingers unfurl and grip Ellie's, seeking out solidarity, or maybe strength. She finds both. "All of us are. What you and the rest of the team do, we're all better off for it. Ellie and Jules are both proud of you and so am I."

He smiles at her, but he doesn't look convinced. Even though he's the one who brought it up, he's obviously not keen to stay on the topic. "They're both going to need to talk about what happened today," he tells her. "Ideally, they'd go to a professional, but with what I do... I don't know. Maybe ARGUS has someone. I'm willing to owe Amanda Waller a favor or two for this."

"Either way, we'll all be there for them both," Sara says. "For as long as it takes."

"I appreciate that," Oliver replies. "And they'll need that, too, but I don't know if that's going to be enough."

"Maybe Barry knows a therapist he trusts? They have all kinds of doctors and science type people," Sara suggests. "Or maybe Big Sara knows someone? She sorta seems like she knows everyone."

"Maybe," Oliver says, though he doesn't sound like his hopes are high. "Mental health isn't exactly a priority with assassins."

"That's probably a major oversight on their part," Sara advises dryly.

Oliver actually chuckles. It sounds rusty, but that she got him to do it at all makes her proud.

"It might be," he agrees. "I'll figure something out. I just don't want to leave it to chance. Not this time. I shouldn't have last time."

 _When Jules was little_. That's what he means. The _last_ time they'd helped her work through feeling like Ellie was somehow more important than her.

"This is different," Sara tells him. It is, in so many ways, and it's clear that Oliver knows that. The weight of responsibility sits so heavily on his shoulders that the strain is visible.

"Yeah," he agrees on an exhale. "Yeah, it is."

It seems like he's resolved something with that statement, because he stands and leans over to kiss Ellie on her forehead. His lips linger against her skin like he's trying to breathe his own strength into her. Sara's not sure where he gets it from, at this point. Her Uncle Oliver has been to hell and back more times than she knows, but he has more stubborn willpower to keep putting one foot in front of the other than anyone else she's ever met.

"I'm going to go sit with Jules for a bit," he says, looking to Sara. "If anything changes, if she wakes up, please come get me right away?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." Oliver brushes Ellie's hair from her temple before stepping back slightly. "I'm sure Felicity will be back just as soon as the doctors let her. And your parents."

Now that he mentions it, her mom is taking an awfully long time to park. Sara pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and glances at it to find a text.

"Dad called her back to the lair," Sara tells him. "Some reporter connected the dots about what happened to Ellie and Jules. He needed her on the computers to block it from getting out." Oliver stands a little straighter at that, falling into Arrow mode on a dime. He's so ready to fight for all of them. She wonders how often he forgets they all fight for him, too. "They've got it covered," Sara assures him. "The story's dead in the water and Mom's erasing all traces of the photos some jerk snapped on their cell of you guys coming into the hospital. We're cool. Dad's already on his way back."

It's obvious he wants to make sure for himself, but the alertness slowly fades from his frame as her message sinks in. He'd trust her parents with his life, with his daughters' lives, but he also tends to expect the worst whenever a crisis hits home.

"Good," he says after a moment. "The girls don't need that out there. Recovering is going to be hard enough, but if their classmates see pictures and the media starts speculating…"

"They were in a car accident," Sara asserts firmly. "I was driving and the passenger side got hit. That's how they got hurt. I got lucky. I'll back them up. You don't have to worry about that. We'll keep the media out of it. I'll text my mom to plant a police report and email our teachers."

Maybe it's the presence of an actual plan, something approaching a way to move forward, but Oliver looks more at ease than he has since she got here. Sara's grateful to have some part in giving him that.

"Sara… thank you."

"That's what family does, Uncle Oliver," she replies. Her fingers curl around Ellie's like she's trying to physically hold onto her place in her best friend's life. "You never have to thank me for that."

The smile he offers back in response actually touches his eyes and it feels like a privilege, today of all days, to be able to give him that. He rounds Ellie's bed to reach Sara's side and leans down to kiss the top of her head, too.

"We're lucky to have you," he tells her, squeezing her shoulder as she smiles up at him.

"I've got Ellie," Sara promises.

"I know you do," Oliver replies. "I'll be back in a bit."

With that, he heads to the door, but Sara has one more thing she can't leave unsaid. "Uncle Oliver?" she ventures, as his hand lands on the door handle. He glances back at her. "We're going to be okay. It might take a while and it might not be easy, but we'll be fine because no one in this family will ever give up on either of them."

He doesn't reply in words, but the little nod of his head and the thin but genuine smile that graces his lips as he looks down to where she holds onto Ellie's fingers like a lifeline feels like answer enough.

A moment later he's gone, leaving Sara alone with Ellie.

The quiet that follows is unsettling.

Ellie is a lot of things, but silent has never been one of them. Forever bubbly and full of life, she draws attention to herself effortlessly, but this… it's foreign. Oliver being there had been a bit of a buffer from how grave the situation really is, but with him gone, with just the sound of Ellie's rhythmic breaths, it's all suddenly a whole lot more real.

It's terrifying.

Sara swallows hard, staring at her best friend. She can see how close it had been. She doesn't need the grittier details to tell her that. The blonde's pallor is all wrong and the bandages on her neck and her wrists are startlingly large.

It doesn't matter, she decides, trying to force resolve into her own bones. They'd both lived. That's what matters. They're both going to be okay. She'll get Ellie some pretty bracelets for Christmas, something to cover the visible scars. And she'll be at her best friend's side to help cope with the ones that can't be seen.

"You sure know how to scare the hell out of us, don't you?" Sara whispers. She keeps her voice quiet, even though she knows from the click of the IV that her friend has a fresh dose of some painkiller that will surely keep her asleep.

"I bet you were brave, though," Sara adds, running her fingers along the back of Ellie's knuckles. "Because that's you, Ellie. You are so strong. You always have been. You won't let this beat you, because you won't give it that much power over who you are. As soon as your eyes open, you'll be smiling back at me and laughing over something. I know it."

Ellie sleeps on.

Sara swallows hard, rubbing her thumb across one of Ellie's nails like a worry stone. An unsettling feeling washes over her as she wonders if she's trying to reaffirm how Ellie will react or if she's trying to convince herself. They've all been through a lot together, the kids of Team Arrow. Danger is far from foreign in their lives and they've all seen their parents hurt, sometimes severely. But this is different. This is _Ellie_ and Sara can only venture a guess as to how her friend will cope.

But she needs this. She needs to believe it. She needs to say the words aloud and force herself to have faith in the truth of them. Because the alternative is unacceptable. The alternative means the bastard who took them won. And Sara's unwilling to accept that.

Suddenly, holding onto Ellie's hand isn't enough. The hospital bed is small, but Sara's not about to let that stop her. Sara lets go of Ellie's hand and, very carefully so she doesn't jostle Ellie too much, she climbs onto the bed. It's a tight squeeze and Sara has to lay on her side facing the other girl. The guard rail digs into her back and Ellie's elbow is jammed into her ribs, but Sara doesn't mind.

This is exactly where she needs to be.

"You'll be okay, Ellie," she whispers. Tears sting at her eyes as she shuts them, blocking out reality for the moment while she presses her lips to Ellie's temple. She reaches across the other girl to lace their fingers together. "You'll be okay, I swear. I'm gonna be here. I'll help you. You'll be fine. You're _fine_."

She half expects Ellie to respond, to laugh and meet her eye with an answering, " _Of course I'm fine, silly. I've got you!"_ But nothing happens and Sara chokes down a bit of a sob instead as her wrist brushes against the bandage on Ellie's.

Ellie might be fine, but she almost wasn't. They'd _almost_ lost her. And the weight of what nearly happened settles over her, blanketing her in a suffocating what-if that steals her breath away. But, even asleep, Ellie's presence helps. Her hair tickles at Sara's nose and her scent washes over her, leaving Sara feeling more grounded, more at home. And the warmth of Ellie's palm against hers, the rush of her breath against Sara's collar, is proof enough that her best friend is alive, that she's thriving in spite of everything. And she'll _keep_ thriving because Sara Diggle will not accept anything else.

"Thank you, Ellie," Sara murmurs. "Thank you for being so strong. Thank you for not leaving me. I don't know what I'd do without you. I don't want to know."

But that, too, is a quiet declaration that goes unheard as Ellie sleeps on. It's fine. Sara will tell her all of this again later. She'll be there for Ellie _and_ for Jules however she can. There's not even a question of that.

She scoots down slightly on the bed to rest her head gently against her best friend's chest, soaking in the sound of the other girl's steady heartbeat. It's a constant thump that rings out in Sara's ears, screaming of life and strength. It feels like that strength fortifies Sara, too. She shuts her eyes, savoring the sound, letting it wash over her and drown out everything else.

Until the door cracks open.

A spike of adrenaline clashes with a near-violent need to _protect_ as Sara moves to face the intruder. It's instinct that has her on edge. She's ready to defend Ellie in an instant - or maybe to defend this insulated bubble between the two of them that she's forged. Every inch of her is ready to fight. Her arm tightens around Ellie, probably more than it should, and every muscle she has coils, ready to spring.

But, as it turns out, it's just her father at the door.

It still takes a second for that recognition to click and for Sara to stand down, but even then her heart pounds, the urge to shield her best friend not dissipating in the least.

Surprise washes across her dad's face, but it melts away quickly. "It's just me," he assures her as she sits up and blinks, running her free hand through her hair.

"Sorry, I…" she starts, but she doesn't know where to go with it.

"It's been a rough day for everyone," he fills in, shutting the door behind himself.

"Yeah," Sara agrees. "I sorta think we might have a few more of those ahead of us."

Her father hums in agreement and nods, but swiftly changes the topic. "She looks better."

"She just needs time," Sara says, looking back down at Ellie. "That's all."

"She's gonna need you, too." Her dad walks over, taking the seat Oliver had vacated earlier. His elbows rest on his knees as he leans forward and meets her eyes. "You know that, right?"

"I've got this," Sara nods firmly.

"There's more to this than just the kidnapping and being hurt," her dad tells her. He's doing his intense and knowing face, which is always makes it feel like he's looking right through her. "She was saved by an older version of herself from another timeline. That's a lot to feel like you need to live up to."

"The only thing Ellie needs to be is herself," Sara insists. "If she wants to follow in her dad's footsteps and put on a mask, that's fine. If not, that's fine, too. I'll have her back either way. She saw one possibility for her life. It's not some kind of destiny." Her dad nods, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. Sara glances at Ellie before looking at him once more. "But I'm pretty sure I've found mine."

Her father visibly jerks at the declaration, and Sara can see the ' _no'_ already on the tip of his tongue. It's not the first time she's implied an interest in taking a spot on the team, but it's probably the clearest she's been about it. Neither of her parents will be thrilled, but she's also not about to back down. Seeing Ellie like this, so badly hurt, knowing it could have been even worse, that cements her resolve.

"What if it'd been Connor?" she asks. "What if it had been Nate? What if it had been some kid we didn't even know? How can I sleep soundly knowing that I could be doing something to help people, but chose not to?"

"Sara," her father says, shaking his head.

"I can't turn a blind eye, Dad," she tells him. "You and Mom raised me better than that. And I think we both know that Uncle Oliver and Aunt Felicity raised Ellie better than that, too."

"This isn't a decision you should make because you think Ellie's going to need you suited up beside her, Sara," her father tells her. His eyes are serious as he pins her with a knowing gaze, but he's wrong. He's wrong and deep inside he knows that, because she can see the fear behind his admonishment.

"If she wants to work nine-to-five and buy a place in the suburbs with a white picket fence, I will help her job hunt and paint accent walls," Sara replies. "But that doesn't change anything for me. I will still put on a mask and I will still help clean up the streets, because people who _do_ live their lives like that deserve to feel safe."

Her father sighs heavily and presses his fingertips against his eyes. It's pretty obvious that she made the right argument, gave him reasons he couldn't counter logically. Her father is a towering man, a pillar of infallible strength, but lately when he stops, when he lets everything catch up to him, he looks worn to her young eyes. He looks _old_.

Fifty-five seems ancient to her, at seventeen, and she has to ask herself how many more years he can keep fighting this never-ending battle. Two decades, he's done this. _Two decades_ he and Uncle Oliver have taken on the worst this city has to offer. But age and injury have taken their toll. Experience mostly makes up for that… so far. But they aren't getting any younger and Sara is starkly aware of the fact that their mission becomes more and more dangerous to them with each passing year.

"We can talk about this later," her father decides, sitting back in the chair. "This isn't the time or the place for big decisions."

"Sure," Sara agrees readily. She's stroking Ellie's hand, she realizes all of a sudden. Her fingers falter - when had she started doing that? But it grounds her in a way she needs, so she keeps going. "But this isn't a sudden choice and it's not something I'm giving up on. We can wait until Christmas break to really start training and I'll hold off until I've graduated to join the team on the streets." She gazes at her dad. "But I'm set on this path."

"No way in _hell_ I'm putting a deadline on training," her father counters. "You'll wait until I say you're ready before you're out on the streets." It take a second for his own words to register. She can see the moment they do because his face turns drawn and ashen on a dime.

It's not 'if' she'll join the team. It's when.

And her father knows it.

Sara's not sure if that's more exciting or terrifying. It's both, if she's being honest. She has no illusions that she's picking an easy life, but she also knows she's picking the right path for herself.

But her thoughts on her future evaporate when Ellie suddenly inhales sharply.

"Ellie?" Sara asks, sitting up a little more, touching the side of her best friend's face.

Terror and confusion pollute Ellie's normally happy gaze when her eyes shoot open. It only takes an instant for her to realize where she is, who she's with, but in that instant Ellie looks as primal and defensive as Sara has ever seen her, like an injured and cornered wild animal. She scrambles back against the head to the bed as both Sara and her father move to try and soothe her.

"It's me," Sara tells her, pulling back both hands and holding them up non-confrontationally. "You're safe. You're in the hospital and you're safe. We've got you."

"No one's going to hurt you, Ellie," Sara's dad tells the injured girl. Sara looks with pleading eyes to find her father standing at Ellie's side, using that same heavy gaze he'd pointed her direction earlier. "Take a second. Don't push yourself."

Everything seems to come back to Ellie in a rush because the primal nature of her fear shifts as Sara watches. The blonde's eyes dart around the room, her hand flying to the bandage on her neck. She's still utterly terrified, but it's not for her own safety anymore.

It's something else entirely.

"Ju's?" Ellie rasps. She shouldn't be trying to talk at all. It has to hurt like hell and she can't even manage the whole of her sister's name, but that's beside the point to Ellie at the moment. Tears fill her eyes, her brow furrowing as she grabs onto Sara's hand with surprising strength, everything about her pleading.

"She's okay," Sara tells her. Ellie lets out a little sob and falls back against the pillows. "Jules is fine. She's in the room across the hall just because the doctors want to keep an eye on her. Your dad and Will are with her. The only thing she hurt was her wrists when she tried to get to you. She's going to be okay."

"No," Ellie counters, shaking her head. Tears slip down her cheeks and she winces as she takes too big a gulp of air and strains the muscles of her neck. "Not 'kay. Need Jul's."

"Don't talk." The command from her father is kind but firm as Sara looks to him for guidance. She feels so _helpless_ right now. Seeing Ellie like this is hard. She's so frightened, so battered, and Sara would do anything at all to bring her best friend's easy-going smile back. But it's not as simple as that. The world rarely is. "I'll get your dad. I'll get Jules, too, if she's up and about, but you don't move a muscle, Elizabeth. That means no talking, too. You got me?"

Ellie nods, a quick, nervous gesture that seems so out of place for her. The sight of her so small and so uncertain, makes Sara angry enough that she could scream. How _dare_ someone do this to her? How could they make her shrink back in fear and hesitance?

Absently, Sara registers her father leaving, the door snicking shut behind him, but her focus remains on Ellie. Lost, sad, little Ellie who seems almost unrecognizable in an oversized hospital gown with her shoulders hunched and her eyes darting around the room like she's looking for something.

She is, Sara realizes. She _is_ looking for something. She's looking for threats.

Sara wonders how long it will be until she stops searching the shadows around her, how long before she sleeps without nightmares. A long time. She's certain of that much.

"He's not here, Ellie," Sara tells the other girl. Ellie jolts and looks to her. Their gaze locks together and Ellie waits, watching warily like Sara might have answers for her. Sara's not sure she does, but she's absolutely going to try. She takes Ellie's hand and grips it harder than she should. Ellie's nails dig into her palm, but the bite against her skin shifts reality into sharp relief and she relishes it. "He's gone and he's not coming back. Not for you or for Jules or for anyone else. I won't allow it. So stop imagining that he won. Don't give him that much power over you."

Something like recognition slips across Ellie's features, softening them and solidifying her resolve all at once. She gives a little nod before looking around again, but she's not searching the darker recesses of the room for threats this time. No, she's looking for something specific. And, a moment later her eyes brighten slightly as she reaches for her cell phone on the nightstand next to her bed.

"You'd better not be thinking about calling anyone," Sara tells her dryly.

The look Ellie offers back is response is so very _her_ that it feels like a bit of a triumph just to be able to bring that out in her today. Her lips curl up in a half-smile as she cocks her head and raises one eyebrow.

" _You're ridiculous,_ " she says without saying it.

A surge of near-blinding affection and relief shoots through Sara at the sight of it. But she doesn't linger on that long because it becomes clear a second later, when Ellie lets go of her hand, that the injured girl is using her phone's notepad as her voice and Sara is keen to see what she has to say.

Sara cranes her neck to try and get a look at the screen. She can't quite get a glimpse, there's a resounding glare. But it scarcely matters because a moment later Ellie flips around the phone so she can read it.

It's just four words, but they make Sara's breath catch in her throat because there's no doubt to their meaning.

' _WE_ _won't let them_.'

She looks from the tiny screen to Ellie's face. All traces of that scared little girl are gone in the blink of an eye and settled in their place are the beginnings of a warrior, determined and unyielding. In this instant, Sara knows with complete certainty that the years to come will find them fighting side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, making sure nothing like this happens ever again to anyone in Starling City. In _this_ instant, the future is so clearly painted in front of her eyes, she feels like she could reach out and touch it.

"We won't," she agrees.

The sense of unity between them is so fierce, so solid that it's startling, but the moment doesn't last because an instant later, Ellie's dad is bursting through the door looking as harried as Sara's ever seen him. He's a powerful man, always seeming larger than life when she was a child. Between him and Aunt Felicity and her parents, it seemed like they could beat anything, like the world ran according to their plans. Maybe it's just that she's lost the illusions of youth, but it doesn't seem like that to her anymore.

"Ellie," he breathes out, crossing the room in a few large strides to gather his daughter up in his arms. Sara backs off as he does, slipping off the bed. She feels a bit like an intruder at the moment, but Ellie drops her cellphone on her lap and grapples for Sara's hand, securing her in place at the bedside. In spite of the way Ellie grips onto her hand, though, the girl's entire being is honed in on her father. She clings to him like a lifeline and his face is buried in the crook of her neck as he breathes her in. "You're okay, baby," he whispers to her. "You're gonna be okay. I should've been there. Should've known, been faster. I'm so sorry, Ellie."

Sara blinks and looks away, trying to be less present in this very private moment. But even as she casts her gaze to the side, she can see Ellie shaking her head in dissent from the corner of her eye. It's Jules that Sara's looking directly at, though, the dark-haired girl standing blank-faced in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. Will's a few steps into the room, grabbing the tablet hooked on the foot of Ellie's bed and pulling up her chart, one hand resting on her ankle. Sara's not sure if he's taking her pulse or if he's just trying to anchor himself in the reality that his little sister is here, that she's recovering. Sara gets the need for that. She's awfully glad that Ellie hadn't let go of her hand. That connection feels vital right now.

"Not-" Ellie rasps out before her voice fails her and her whole face twists in pain. Her father backs off at that, but not by much. Just enough to look her in the eye.

"Don't try to talk," he orders her. Sara gets the feeling this is going to be a frequent command in the coming days. "Or, if you really have to, at least make it a whisper. Will, can you grab the doctor?"

"Yeah," Will agrees, even as Ellie huffs in exasperation. He walks over and kisses her on the top of her head with a quiet, "I love you, Ellie-bug. You scared the hell out of me," before heading out the door, gripping Jules hard on the shoulder and whispering something to her that Sara can't hear as he goes. But Sara's attention doesn't stay with Jules for long because Ellie lets go of her hand to pick her phone back up and type out a message.

' _Not your fault_ ,' Ellie writes, holding her phone up to her dad with both eyebrows raised at him pointedly.

"We can talk about it later," Oliver replies, with a thin smile that tells Sara he doesn't believe Ellie's words in the least.

It's clear from the way Ellie's lips twist that she's not thrilled with his answer, but her gaze slips past him to settle on her sister and she immediately reaches a hand out toward the girl. Jules, however, makes no move to close the gap between them. She shifts uneasily instead, all wariness and apprehension.

' _Please_ ,' Ellie mouths at her sister. ' _Please, Jules_.'

It seems like Jules is looking for some way to escape, but there's nowhere to go. After what feels like an eternity, she takes a few hesitant steps toward her younger sister. The moment she's within arm's reach, Ellie grabs hold of her and pulls her in. Jules makes a choked noise that she tries to mask with a cough as she looks to her toes. But Ellie isn't about to allow her so easy an escape.

The bed creaks as Ellie shifts, rises up and leans forward to press her lips to her sister's forehead, letting go of her hand for a moment to hold both sides of the other girl's face.

Jules shudders at the touch. "Ellie…" she rasps out, still staring at her own feet. She breathes out a hard sigh, working her jaw from side to side as she tries - and fails - to stave off tears. They drop one after the other straight onto the speckled linoleum floor.

Pulling back, Ellie makes the one gesture in sign language that virtually everyone seems to know. She presses her fingers in the 'I love you' sign against her sister's chest, right over her heart, and it jars Jules enough that she looks up and meets Ellie's eyes. Sara has to glance away from the sight. There's too much raw pain there, too much longing and disbelief.

"He lied," Ellie says in the quietest, most determined whisper Sara can even imagine. The sound of a wracked, muffled sob follows and Sara's certain that Jules has covered her mouth in an attempt to cage the noise in. She can't, though, and Jules has never dealt well with confrontation.

"Jules, honey," Oliver's saying. Sara can see him reaching for her, but Jules steps back from both of her family members.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out. "I just… I have to go. I need some air. I'm… I'm really glad you're okay, Ellie."

"Julie, please don't go," her father pleads with her. "Not right now."

"I won't go far," she promises, as if that's the issue. "Just down the hall. It's fine. I'm fine. Stay with Ellie. She's the one who needs you right now. She's where your focus should be. I'm okay."

That's the furthest thing from truth that Sara can imagine. Jules is obviously anything but 'okay.' She's splintered and broken, her entire sense of self cracked right down the middle, but she's also the sort of person who needs to process things on her own and her father knows that.

"There's a balcony off the waiting area on this floor," he tells her. "Get some air. I'll find you in a bit."

"You don't have to," Jules says immediately, her tone defensive and snappish.

"I want to, Jules," he tells her softly. "You're my daughter and I _want_ to."

Jules nods once, sharp and decisive, a total contrast to the way her eyes water and her lower lip quivers, and she bolts from the room without another word.

" _Jules_ ," Ellie tries to call after her, but she can't make her voice loud enough and her whole face twists in pain at the attempt. For all the effort she puts forth, Jules doesn't even register her attempt.

"Don't strain yourself," Oliver tells her again. Sara wonders if he already feels like a broken record. "You've got a lot of healing ahead of you."

"Yes," Ellie agrees in a tiny voice, her gaze still lingering on the doorway her sister had disappeared through moments before. "We both do."


	19. January 2015

**January 2015**

 _She's so tiny_.

The words circle around in Oliver's head as he picks the infant up out of her small bassinet. For a second, the rustle of her little blanket is the only sound in the room past the faint rush of hospital life outside their closed door and Felicity's soft, steady breathing.

Jules is sound asleep, just like her mother.

He moves slowly, careful not to jostle her too much in case she wakes, aching to be fed again or cranky with a messy diaper. And _oh_ do newborns have messy diapers, something he learned the hard way when he opened her first diaper and found black sludge waiting for him.

She barely reacts to the movement, though, adjusting in his arms. She shifts in the warm blanket swaddled around her, the only indication she gives that she's aware anything is going on. It's loose enough that she can move her arms a bit. The nurse had done is more snuggly earlier, but Oliver's still learning. His baby girl's little fists poke out, making tiny tents in the soft material. With a quiet sigh, she settles again, her tiny bow-shaped lips forming an 'o'.

"You're perfect," he whispers.

Absolutely _perfect_.

Jules makes the tiniest of sounds in response, her little brow scrunching up, but she doesn't wake.

"Shh," Oliver hushes. The sound is barely audible - and completely for his own benefit - as he holds her closer. "Shh…"

It's been a few hours since he first heard her sharp cry as she entered the world, since he looked down at where the doctor sat and saw his little girl for the first time. She's absolutely perfect - great weight, great length, great _everything_ \- but despite that, his mind had had a hard time coming to terms with the tiny creature he saw and the incredibly loud noise she'd been making. He must have made a sound because Felicity had bolted upright with exhausted, panicked eyes, her nails still digging into the back of his hand, her hair wild as she'd tried to get a look, asking, " _Is she okay? Is she alright?"_

" _She's perfect."_

He's well aware that he's probably ruining the meaning behind the word 'perfect,' but if there was ever a word created to describe the tiny human in his arms, it's that one.

The infant twists in her blankets, turning towards him in her sleep, seeking his warmth.

A beatific smile graces his lips, a thousand and one emotions tugging at his heart as he snuggles her closer to his chest, wanting to give her his warmth and so much more.

God, he wants to give her everything. Warmth, security, love, happiness… _all of it_.

And he will, he knows it without a single doubt. She's the reason why he's fought so hard all these years, why he does what he does every night - he wants to make the world a better place, for the people in his city, for the love of his life, for his son… and for _her_. For his baby girl, his Jules. For all his children, really, her and Will and Ellie and Nate, but right now, in this moment…

It's for Jules.

And he will move heaven and earth to make sure that happens.

Oliver feels the certainty of that promise in his bones. No, it's deeper than that. It's in his every cell, every tiny molecule that makes him who he is. He will move mountains for her - hell, he'd rearrange the entire goddamn planet if it meant keeping her safe, if it meant she was _happy_.

"Shh," he whispers again, carrying Jules over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. She whimpers slightly and wriggles, but doesn't wake, not even when his knee hits the edge of the chair. He lets out a soundless, "Aah," before stilling it, unwilling to let anything ever jostle his little girl while she sleeps. It takes every bit of muscle in his core to keep her still as he sits down.

It works.

Oliver lets out a little sigh of relief and settles back, careful not to move her too much. But she's quieted again, sound asleep and silent aside from the little puffs of air she breathes out, ghosting across his arm. God, will he ever tire of watching her?

No. He won't.

Wonder and joy and love fill him as he stares at the tiny life in his arms. Tears blur his vision as it all collects in his chest. It's so much, almost overwhelming.

"Hi," he breathes, so soft so as not to wake her. "Hi there."

A rustling sound hits his ears and Oliver's eyes fly to the bed, holding his breath in case he woke her mother. Felicity's gone to the world, though. She's curled up on her side, her hand on the edge of the mattress, just out of reach of the empty bassinet. Her hair is still wild, strands spread out in a crazy halo, highlighting the soft slackness of her features as she sleeps.

She's so gorgeous it makes his chest ache. She's beautiful, even more so than before. Sometimes he doesn't think that's possible but then he wakes up next to her, or he brushes his fingers over her cheeks - which always makes her smile - or he whispers how much he loves her and he catches that happy sparkle in her eye…

He thinks it every damn day - something she'd playfully rolled her eyes at yesterday just before she'd gone into labor - but today…

Today she gave him his daughter. His beautiful little girl. His Jules. His Julie-bug.

Oliver looks back at the tiny bundle in his arms.

He still can't believe she's finally here.

Oliver slowly starts rocking and Jules slumbers on, so completely trusting. She's warm and comfortable and _safe_ in his arms and that makes him feel about ten thousand feet tall. He takes a deep breath, feeling like his chest is expanding to twice its size.

Minutes pass by unmeasured, and Oliver doesn't move an inch the entire time save to brush his fingers over her dark head of hair or to settle his hand over her little body, quieting her arms when she adjusts. Jules sleeps as if she's never slept before, which makes sense. She went through her own mini-trauma, making the transition from a safe, secure place to a bright, new world.

He wants to stay right here, forever. He knows he can't, just as much as he knows he doesn't really want that, because he also wants to show Jules everything. He wants to show her all the good in the world, the good he and her mother fight so hard for, the good Felicity showed him, the beauty that waits for his little girl.

But right now, he wants to _revel_. He wants to just _be_ , just exist with her for a second.

"My little Julie-bug," he whispers.

It feels like the closest thing he's uttered to a prayer in years.

Oliver runs his fingers over her head again, brushing some of her already wild, wispy hair down before cupping it gently. He can't stop marveling at how _tiny_ she is. It's kind of blowing his mind. The smile that's been permanently stuck on his face since he heard her first cry grows. She's tiny, yes, but he also knows she's got the entire world inside of her. That's one thing Felicity and Ellie taught him, and it's something he wants to teach Jules - to not be afraid to go after what she wants, after what makes the light that lives inside her so bright.

His touch is soft as a feather as he runs his index finger over her little brow and then down the bridge of her tiny nose.

The second he reaches the tip, Jules' eyes open.

Oliver starts, his next breath catching in his throat as he freezes, waiting. What for exactly, he's not sure, but he doesn't move, waiting for her. She makes a face, like the fact that she's awake at all right now is utterly deplorable and personally offensive. It's the cutest goddamn thing he's ever seen. Oliver absolutely _melts_. Her face screws up even more and Oliver can't help the breathy chuckle that slips out and somehow, it's enough for her to hear it.

And then she's looking at him, her eyes finding his.

He'd thought his entire world had started when he first met Felicity, when he first met their daughter from the other universe, when he first told the woman of his dreams that he loved her, when he first heard she was pregnant. He thought it'd started when he first saw his little girl coming into the world, when he first heard her cry…

And it had each time, in its own way, but when Jules looks up at him, when she meets his eyes in this serene little bubble that's all their own?

This moment will be locked in his mind until his last day.

Oliver's heart bursts with pure love as he meets her cloudy grey eyes.

"Hey there, Jules," he says. He strokes her nose again before letting his finger drift down her cheek. "Hi there, beautiful."

Jules' shoulders shift to and fro as she gurgles up at him. He tugs the blanket loose, letting her arms free. Her hands are so, so tiny…

Without warning, her little hand finds one of his fingers, and she _squeezes_.

Oliver laughs, tears blurring his vision again. He blinks them away, not wanting to miss a single second. Her grip is strong, wicked strong, and it makes him laugh again when she just stares up at him, holding his finger with her little ones, blowing spit bubbles out of her mouth.

She's just…

"Perfect," he whispers, his voice catching with emotion.

Jules scrunches her nose, her fingers tightening around his even more. He runs his thumb over the back of her fingers. She's so _soft_. He counts her fingers again - he already did a few hours ago, her fingers, toes, arms, legs, ears - and they're all accounted for.

Oliver's not sure how long they stay like that, him holding his daughter, his love sleeping soundly a few feet away, nothing but the gentle sound of soft breaths and the quiet creak of the chair as he rocks.

He doesn't realize he's saying anything until his voice catches on the first few words.

"Here comes the sun," he sings, the words barely above a whisper. They're just for Jules and she seems to know that as she watches him. He's never been much of a singer, but his baby girl is the least judgemental audience imaginable, as she stares at him with enraptured, curious eyes. "Here comes the sun, and I say… it's all right…" He strokes the back of her fingers, staring into her eyes, singing in time with the rocking of the chair. The song comes out of nowhere, he has no idea why this song popped into his head, but it makes his heart feel full, so he keeps going, slightly amazed he knows the words. "Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter… Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here…"

The lyrics ring true, in a strange way. His life has changed so much since that fateful day when Barry blew into the foundry, a red blurred stranger with a little girl tucked in his arms, a little girl who would change the trajectory of his life irrevocably. He'd had no idea what Ellie was going to give him at the time. Not only Felicity and the greatest happiness he'd ever known, not only starting him on a path towards recognizing his own self-worth…

But Jules, too.

Without Ellie, he wouldn't have his daughter and for that…

God, for that he's _so_ grateful.

Not missing a beat as he continues singing to his baby girl, he sends out a silent ' _thank you'_ to the other Ellie, wherever she may be in the other 'verse. For so long, just the thought of her had made his insides feel like they were being shredded, and god, what Felicity had gone through… Losing her had gutted them both and coping with that loss had been a painful learning process. But it was all worth it.

Because it meant they got Jules.

"Here comes the sun…" His eyes burn with tears of pure joy. "Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right…" Jules stares at him, a look of such contentment fixed on her face. As if to answer her, Oliver strokes his finger down her cheek. "Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces…" He grins at her. "Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here… Here comes the sun… here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right."

Oliver leans down and kisses her forehead gently.

He plans on it being quick - his stubble crossed over into beard territory late last night during Felicity's long labor - but the second he catches a whiff of her, he pauses, his eyes slipping shut as he savors her scent. It's absolutely indescribable - something pure and unique and _addicting_. He takes a deep breath, cuddling her close, savoring the moment. Who knew one day he'd be in such complete awe about how amazing his newborn's head smelled? The thought makes him laugh - in _amazement_ \- because if anyone had told him this is what he had to look forward to a few years ago, he wouldn't have believed it. He never would have thought he'd get this, his Felicity and now his Julie-Bug. But he _does_ have it, have them, and it's…

"Perfect," he whispers against her forehead, pulling back to look at her. Her eyes have slipped shut once more, but that doesn't stop him from tapping her nose before running his finger down the length of it again. "You're the sun, Julie-Bug."

A choked, "Oh," pulls him back to reality and Oliver looks up to see Donna standing a few feet away. He hadn't even heard the door open, much less realized someone was in there with him. So much for those Arrow reflexes, although he also knows if it'd been a real threat, the person wouldn't be walking away with their life. Donna's camera is up like she's recording and he wonders how much of the last few minutes she'd captured since she's come in. She wipes her eyes, her lower lip trembling as she grins at him. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No," Oliver says with a quiet smile, shaking his head. "It's okay. I'm just…"

He looks back down at his daughter and he's speechless all over again. He sighs instead as Jules gurgles some more, her eyes opening once more, immediately finding him. He vaguely remembers reading somewhere that newborns can't see very much for a while, and even if they can, they have no idea what they're seeing. But she knows. He feels it.

Donna inches closer, her breath catching when Jules' eyes shift to her. Her hand finds his shoulder, as if she needs the balance as she breathes, "Oh, Oliver, I can't believe how beautiful she is."

"Neither can I," Oliver replies.

Donna leans over, her long fingernail tickling Jules' plump cheek. "You look just like your mommy, sweet thing."

Oliver's heart skips a beat at that, at the precious information about Felicity that they haven't taken time to explore just yet.

He looks up at the her. "Yeah?"

Donna gives him a serene, "Mmhmm," as she smiles at Jules. She wiggles her finger for emphasis. "Those cheeks and the way her hair sticks up only on the right side. Felicity had that. It took weeks for it to finally stay down."

That makes him laugh, a little snort because it's the most random fact she could have picked. He suddenly wants to see all of Felicity's baby pictures with a fierceness that takes his breath away.

"She's got your brow, though," Donna adds. "And your nose." She reaches over Oliver's shoulder, tickling the side of Jules' nose. "All Queen right there." Oliver chuckles, staring at Jules. He doesn't even bother trying to see it. No, all he sees is Felicity and he loves it. He hears the rustle of Donna's sequined jacket as she stands up straight again and he knows she's looking at Felicity. "She's still asleep?"

Oliver follows her gaze, nodding. "Yeah," he replies, eyes drifting over Felicity's supine form. His palm itches to cup her cheek, to brush the stray hairs away from her temple. "She's exhausted."

She'd been up a bit ago to feed Jules, something both her and Jules were surprisingly adept at - it was almost as if Felicity's body had known instinctively what to do. She'd slid Jules into place against her chest, right where she needed to be against her breast, and Jules had found her nipple almost right away, latching on. They're lucky, the nurse had told them; it's not always so easy.

There must be about a hundred pictures of that first feeding alone, some with Oliver right there, others of just Felicity and Jules. He found himself wanting to see them, to see if he could spot every single similarity between her and their daughter.

Donna nods, but she doesn't say anything, which Oliver would find strange except Jules shifts, pulling his attention back to her. Her little mouth yawns, but it seems like the action itself startles her a little, like she hasn't quite figured out what she's capable of yet. Every single thing is new to her still, unexplored, and the reality of that makes Oliver's heart brim to the top because she is all possibility right now.

The older woman smiles and leans over again, smoothing the infant's hair down with a soft, "So much like your mommy," before sniffling a little and pulling out her phone again. She opens the camera, aiming to take yet another picture, but pausing at the image on her phone. It's clear she still has up the video she had been shooting when she walked in, because when she shows Oliver the screen a large play button sits over the scene of him and Jules, a look of pure adoration on his face. He smiles. "Were you singing to her?" she asks him.

A light flush colors Oliver's cheeks, but he doesn't duck his head or hide his face. He gives Donna a small nod, looking at Jules. "Yeah."

"Well," Donna sighs, shaking her head at the phone with a teary smile. "Isn't that just the sweetest thing ever?"

Before Oliver can respond, the hospital door opens again, this time revealing Moira Queen in all her regal glory. She'd spent the night at the hospital with them, having been there since the second Felicity's water broke. It helps that they'd all happened to be taking a slow stroll around the Queen Manor gardens, talking about the most recent update on Isabel Rochev's fate, something his mother was keeping a keen eye on. She'd left early that morning for some mayoral business, but despite the fact that she'd skipped a night of sleep, she doesn't look it.

Felicity must be starting to rub off on him - or maybe he's just ridiculously exhausted himself - because he suddenly finds himself wondering if always looking perfect is one of his mom's superpowers.

Moira's face instantly softens when she takes in the scene, her eyes skating over the room before lingering on Jules.

"Hey, Mom," Oliver greets with a serene smile, one that also has quite a bit of pride in it under the scrutinous eye of his mother.

"Hello." The door slips shut behind her with a little snick. "And how are we doing?" she asks as she sets her purse on a nearby chair, making her way over. She smiles at Donna, her hand coming out to touch her arm in greeting before her eyes find Jules again.

"Somebody's awake," Oliver replies, indicating Jules.

"Oh, yes she is," Moira breathes, and not just because she wants to stay quiet for Felicity's sake, but also because her granddaughter takes her breath away. Oliver looks at her in time to see her eyes watering as she huddles with Donna over him and his daughter. "Hello, little one."

Jules' eyes rove around, her arms moving to and fro, her little mouth puckering up as she reacts to all the commotion. Oliver instinctively lays his hand over her chest and it settles her, her eyes immediately finding his.

Moira makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a choking sob, her hand gripping Oliver's bicep, right below where Donna still holds his shoulder.

"She is so beautiful, Oliver," she whispers. She really, _really_ is. "You both did very good."

Oliver huffs out a chuckle. "I barely did anything," he says, rubbing Jules' chest in a comforting motion that makes her little lids flutter. "This is all Felicity."

"Oh," Donna suddenly says, turning to Moira. "You have to look at this video I just took."

Moira smiles politely, turning to Donna as the other woman pulls up her phone, hitting play on the screen. Oliver watches Jules as they watch the video, but his ears are perked, wondering how much of the scene she caught. He hopes all of it.

For a long moment it's mostly silent until he catches the sound of his voice singing the Beatles song. His mom's hand never leaves his arm as she watches, which means he knows the instant she recognizes it.

"Is that 'Here Comes The Sun'?" she asks, her voice a little thicker than it was a moment ago.

Oliver nods, looking up. "Yeah."

"Oh, Oliver," Moira whispers, shaking her head. He tilts his head in question as she smiles at him, loving nostalgia coloring her face. "You remember that?"

He furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Your father used to sing that to you," Moira replies.

Oliver's chest tightens, a rush of emotion he can't begin to name, much less fathom, crashing through him. His voice is uneven as he asks, "He did?"

His mother cups his cheek, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "When you were little and you couldn't sleep, or when you had nightmares. You were very young," she adds, her tone shifting slightly, highlighting the changes his parents went through all those years ago, not only as individuals, but in their marriage. She smiles at him. "But yes, he used to sing that song to you." She laughs under her breath. "It was the only Beatles song he knew all the words to."

The more she speaks, the more familiar it sounds. He doesn't have a tangible memory to hold on to, he realizes as he looks back down at Jules, but the feeling is there. It's a warm, loving feeling, one of security and happiness. The very same feeling he wants to pass on to his own child.

Oliver takes a breath and it catches in his throat as he stares at his daughter.

His father wasn't perfect, by any means, either as a man or as a dad. But that doesn't take away from the safe feeling he gave Oliver as a child, from the love he obviously had for him, from the sacrifices he'd made for his son when it mattered most.

And oh, does he have such a better understanding of that now than he did before.

Tears blur his vision for what feels like the hundredth time in the space of an hour and he blinks them away, smiling at Jules.

"Here comes the sun…" he murmurs to her.

He vaguely hears Moira asking Donna, "Will you send that to me?" and her soft, "Of course." He's too enamored of Jules to pay any real attention, though.

Oliver strokes his finger down his daughter's cheek again as her eyes slip shut, as she succumbs to the warm cocoon of sleep.

"Here comes the sun," he whispers to her. She is the sun. _His_ sun. "And I say… it's all right."

All of it, he thinks, all of it is so very right. His family, the one they're just starting, healthy and strong… the love of his life, the woman he's going to marry, sleeping safe and sound… the daughter she gave him secure in his arms… his mom - rather, his mom _s_ , he thinks with a silent chuckle - gathered around him…

It's everything he wanted all those years ago, but never put a voice to, everything he yearned for but never thought he'd get.

His life is exactly how it should be.

"Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right."


	20. February 2019

**February 2019**

"Hey now, little miss!"

Jules freezes where she's kneeling on a barstool, still wearing her bright red ' _Priscilla the Pirate Princess'_ pajamas. She's got one elbow hooked on the counter for balance, her other hand suspended mid-air…

Right over a bowl of freshly whipped cream.

With one hand still securing Ellie into her high chair, Felicity points a finger at her eldest. "That is _not_ finger food," she finishes.

Ellie lets out a squeal as if Felicity is talking to her, but she ignores the squirming little girl, keeping her eyes on Jules. She can _see_ her daughter trying to plan a way to weasel her way out of trouble. Ideas tick through her clear blue eyes, her bow-shaped little lips holding an 'o' shape.

She doesn't move a muscle for a long moment before finally widening her eyes.

"I didn't eat it," Jules counters, all feigned innocence. She's ridiculously good at that, playing the part of a little angel perfectly. It used to work on Felicity, a lot more than she'll ever admit - not that Oliver lets her forget when she chastises him for it - but Jules is four years old now and Felicity knows better.

It also doesn't help the evidence is all over her fingers.

Felicity narrows her eyes with a pointed, "Oh?" as she turns to finish fastening Ellie into her seat. Clicking the last buckle in place, she whirls in spot to fix her eyes on her older daughter.

Jules settles back on the stool - Felicity will never _not_ have a mild heart attack when her daughter sits like that. One wrong turn and she's falling backwards to smack her head on the floor. But her balance is freakishly impeccable, thanks to her father. Although Jules also inherited his entire lack of subtlety. Felicity catches him glancing over his shoulder to see what's going on, and Jules catches it, too. Her blue eyes dart between her parents, lingering on his broad back before she looks at Felicity again.

Oliver doesn't look her way again, though. Nope, he's back to mixing batter and trying not to laugh. He's failing. His shoulders vibrate as he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. _Traitor_. He can stare down big bad supervillains but he can't admonish his four-year-old with a straight face?

And Jules _does_ need to be put in her place right now, no matter how damn cute she is with a smear of whipped cream from the corner of her mouth all the way up her cheek.

"Julianna," Felicity says, fighting to keep her face stern. It's hard, though, and Oliver's smothered laughter isn't helping anything. "We do not lie."

The little girl's brow furrows as she looks at the bowl of freshly whipped cream. Right in the center is a gouged out hole the size of her finger. It could not be more obvious that she'd swiped some if she'd tried. It's not a look of guilt that has Felicity pausing, though. It's the confusion on her face, like she's trying to suss things out. But, as Felicity is quickly realizing is typical of her oldest, she says nothing until she's figured out exactly what she wants to say.

For a preschooler, Jules is surprisingly reserved, plays things remarkably close to the chest.

"But…" Jules finally says, her voice suddenly sounding so young. "We lie all the time." She looks up with guileless eyes. "Every day. I'm s'posed _to_ lie. You said so."

Well…

 _Shit_.

Felicity catches Oliver from the corner of her eye nodding slightly, glancing at Felicity with a silent, ' _She's got you there.'_

She does, not that she needs him pointing it out. Felicity bites back the urge to shoot him a look that says, ' _And thank you for the help, mister,'_ considering who's who of the masks in the kitchen currently.

Their lives do require a certain amount of… creative storytelling, if there was ever a way to describe it, and no small amount of absent details. But that's different. This isn't neglecting to mention to her friends that her dad is the Arrow. This is lying to her parents. And a line needs to be drawn there.

"Not to each other, though," Felicity corrects her. Ellie babbles happily behind her, the nine-month-old making adorable, unintelligible noises that she utters pretty much constantly. The infant's sticky hands grab for her. How are they sticky, exactly? She _just_ washed them. But Ellie can wait. Felicity's eyes never leave her oldest as she adds, "We tell each other the truth, Jules. Always."

Jules frowns, her brows furrowing even more as she thinks hard about that, trying to process the distinction in her little head. It's not an easy thing for such a young girl, and Felicity gets that. Hell, she wasn't exactly the model child for telling the truth when she was little, and it only got worse after her dad was out of the picture.

Felicity stays quiet, letting her process. Ellie gets too good a hold on her t-shirt and she reaches back, unwinding her ridiculously strong little fingers, but all her attention stays on Jules. This is too important to treat lightly, especially because of the line they all have to walk due to her and Oliver's extracurricular activities. It's a burden she wishes her children didn't have to carry, but the thought of lying to them about it is unacceptable.

All the more reason they're all as honest as they can be with each other.

"So…" Jules ventures, biting her lower lip. She tilts her head to the side as she studies her mother with those piercing ice-blue eyes of hers. "Does that mean I'm s'posed to tell you that for your birthday Daddy got you-"

Oliver suddenly spins around, joining the conversation with an abrupt, "Hey! No." He lets out a nervous laugh, avoiding Felicity's gaze as he gives Jules a look. "No, it does not, Julie-bug. Surprises are different."

Felicity turns her narrowed eyes on him. She studies her husband, and when he looks at her, a little blush lights up his cheeks. He ducks his head, scratching the back of his neck bashfully as he turns back to the mixing bowl. He picks it up, like he needs something to do with his hands, before turning to face them again.

Just _what_ is he up to?

Oliver glances at her again, feeling her stare, and when she raises an inquiring eyebrow his way, he shoots her a quick wink. That, in combination with his still-flushed skin and sleep-tousled hair and tight Henley with his shirt sleeves rolled up, all on top of cooking them breakfast? It's a _problem._ Desire tugs at her core, heat unfurling deep inside her, and like he knows it, his smile turns slightly carnal. Felicity's narrowed eyes turn into a half-hearted glare. How did this turn around on her?

He sends her another wink, making her squirm.

' _Stop it,'_ she mouths sternly, because they are far from alone. The reminder does the opposite, though, as her mind brings up the many delightful ways that whipped cream can be used. Like he's in her head, his grin grows larger and she says, " _Oliver_ ," in a low, slightly harassed voice.

"How?" Jules asks, snapping their attention back to the present.

Felicity blinks a few times, clearing her head, turning back to her daughter along with Oliver, who asks, "Hmm?"

"It seems the same to me, Daddy."

"Oh. Well." Oliver turns to pour the batter into the waffle maker. He clamps the lid shut and starts it before giving his daughter all his attention. "It's just… some things are a surprise to make people happy." He walks over to the island, taking the barstool next to her. He brushes some of her hair off her forehead, pulling some of the strands free where they'd dried in the whipped cream on her cheek. "Like presents. Lies are things you say or _don't_ say to keep yourself or somebody else from getting in trouble."

Jules huffs out a troubled sigh and looks down at the giant bowl of freshly whipped cream in front of her.

There are a million things she could say in this moment to make things all the more complicated. She could ask why they lie about Arrow-related things. She could wonder if her father would get in trouble - if _both_ her parents would - if she didn't lie about that. She could ask what would happen to her if that ever happened.

But, thank _god_ , none of that comes up.

Instead Jules makes a mournful little pout, her voice dropping as she says, "I just really like the whipped cream." Her lower lip quivers, her nose turning red - that happens so easily with her fair complexion. She's fighting back tears, keeping them trapped in her eyes by sheer force of will alone. It's obvious this is quickly becoming a matter of dire consequence to her. Most things are when you're four, Felicity's learned. Which pajamas are worn to bed seems to have life-or-death levels of crucial importance, and that has nothing on which stuffed animals get to sleep _in_ the bed. Jules wipes her eyes a little too hard, sniffling, "I didn't mean to _lie_ about it."

Felicity tries to stay firm, she does. But she thinks it might be a losing battle this time. Jules is oddly emotional this morning. Maybe it's a growth spurt, or she just hadn't slept well, but whatever it is, everything's pretty close to the surface for her today. That is all the more evident when Jules covers her eyes, as if that act alone will shove the tears back where they belong, just as the waffle iron chirps.

As if they'd had it coordinated the entire time, Felicity heads for their toddler with a soft, "It's okay, baby," as Oliver goes to check on the first waffle, knowing she's got this. He does pause to kiss the top of Jules' head and scratch at Felicity's back when she passes before getting back to the breakfast.

Felicity hears the distinct clatter of Ellie's sippy cup hitting the floor behind her, but the infant's happy gurgles let her keep all her attention where it needs to be.

Jules ducks her head down with another wet sniffle, but she reaches for her mother as Felicity closes in and scoops the little girl up into her arms.

"It's okay," Felicity repeats. "It's just whipped cream, honey. You didn't mean to lie about it. It's not that big a deal. I just want us to learn from this, okay? Mistakes are fine as long as you learn from them." She can't see Jules' face where it's tucked into the crook of her neck, but her dark hair bobs as she nods, taking a heaving gulp of air. Felicity rubs her back, up and down, dragging her nails down gently along the slight ridges of her spine, the surefire way to soothe her daughter. "You okay, Julie-bug?" she asks. Jules nods harder, her nose brushing against her mother's collarbone. "Okay, good. Did you sleep okay?"

"Just want whipped cream, is all," Jules mumbles into her skin. "It's yummy."

"It _is_ yummy," Felicity agrees before tickling her side. Jules squirms, letting out a giggle, but it's short, entirely because her mother knows exactly where she's ticklish and not at all due to a mood change. "Don't you want to wait for waffles, though?"

"I _guess_ ," Jules allows with a huff. She pulls her head back to look at Felicity. She shrugs, glancing at Oliver. Her eyes are a bit red-rimmed but dry. "If I gotta."

The clatter of a plate follows and Felicity looks up to find her husband leaning on the island with both elbows, pushing a plate with the first, freshly made waffle across toward them. "Good thing we've got one done, then," he says with a soft smile all for their little girl.

Jules licks her lips as she eyes the treat. Oliver's waffles are ridiculously good. He adds a dash of amaretto to the batter, as Felicity had found out about a year into their marriage. It's absolutely sinful how delicious they are. The entire family loves them, something that's been evidenced repeatedly by Roy and Thea showing up 'just to say hi' many a weekend morning.

"I want one…" Jules allows before her eyes flicker to her baby sister. "But Ellie's never had them, so she should get it first."

Oliver sighs as Jules' eyes turn to linger on the whipped cream with an absurd amount of longing once more, shaking his head affectionately at his older daughter and her selfless statement. It's not the first time she's done that by a longshot and they both know it won't be the last.

And she's not wrong, Ellie hasn't tried this particular breakfast yet.

Truth be told, Felicity's been looking forward to this morning for _years_. She remembers clearly how much the first Ellie had adored Oliver's strawberry waffles and watching her baby girl experience them for the very first time is something she's been daydreaming about since before her daughter was born.

But, she also really doesn't like the sad look on Jules' face.

"You are an _awesome_ big sister, kiddo," Felicity tells Jules, bopping her on the nose. "That's very kind of you, do you know that?"

Jules shrugs, aiming for nonchalant but she hasn't quite mastered it yet. She will, though, way sooner than Felicity is ready for her to.

"Well you are," Felicity emphasizes, "and…" She pulls open a drawer and grabs a utensil. "It's a good thing we've got way more spoons than waffles."

Jules is confused for about half a second until she sees a spoon diving into the whipped cream. The way the toddler's eyes light up in absolute delight more than makes up for the impending sugar high as Felicity hands her the heaping spoonful. She immediately takes it, sucking a bit of the treat off the end, leaving a smear of it across the tip of her little button nose.

"Thanks, Momma," Jules says around a mouthful of whipped cream.

"Just don't double dip," Felicity says with a wink. "You okay to be put down?"

"Mmhm," Jules replies with a nod, not that she's really paying attention. All her focus is on the spoon in her hand as her tiny pink tongue darts out to lick more of the sweetness. She's utterly satisfied for the moment and Felicity sets her down.

Ellie slaps the tray of her high chair with an insistent noise.

"Oh!" Felicity says, turning to look at the baby. Ellie's got the innocent look down pat - she might as well be wearing a halo over her little golden curls - but the sippy cup on the floor and the carpet of cheerios meant to keep her busy tell another story entirely. "I'm so sorry, were you not getting enough attention?"

Ellie giggles and claps her hands together, very possibly applauding her mother for getting it right. The rumble of Oliver's chuckle sounds again - he clearly agrees - as Ellie bounces excitedly in her chair.

"Is this what you're looking for?" Felicity asks, grabbing the waffle.

Ellie practically vibrates with excitement and an emphatic nod.

Thank god those crazy chairs have straps. Ellie will be walking any second now, but Felicity's pretty sure she could climb just about anything if given half the chance. Baby parkour is a real thing and she one hundred percent blames Oliver. It's a good thing they'd invested in convertible cribs because Ellie's is already switched over to a toddler bed after they'd found her sitting atop her dresser after naptime last week. Jules keeps begging for hers to be switched to a 'big girl' bed but Oliver won't even _discuss_ it. His baby cannot possibly be big enough to have outgrown a toddler bed.

He takes his denial very seriously.

The man himself appears behind her, his hands slipping over her hips to pull her back against his chest, abandoning the waffle maker for the moment. He kisses the back of her head before tilting to kiss her bare neck, making her smile as he wraps his arms around her waist. She can see him turning his head slightly to check on Jules and then Ellie before looking down at the waffle she's cutting up.

Felicity leans against him in a nudge. "You got your phone?"

Oliver hums and nods, his chin digging into her shoulder where it rests. "I do. There's just one thing I need…"

"What?"

He stands, turning towards Jules - she's right where Felicity left her, completely focused on her treat - as he says in a sing-song voice, "A big hug from my Julie-bug."

It's become a bit of a secret weapon to use with Jules, because it never fails to elicits a smile from their daughter. This time is no different. The little girl looks up, her nose scrunching into a grin as Oliver crouches his way towards her. When the spoon is safely away from her mouth, he scoops her up, earning a precious giggle that warms Felicity's heart. Oliver's careful to make sure the remaining whipped cream doesn't slip off the spoon as he tickles the toddler, earning himself another giggle. It's not the full-bodied laughter Jules is capable of, rare as it is, but it's more than enough considering where she was a minute ago.

Felicity focuses back on the waffle, but she hears an admonishing, "No, Daddy, that's my whipped cream!" She looks to see Oliver play-diving for the spoon again. "No," she giggles, pushing one little hand over his mouth to keep it closed. "Ellie first, Daddy!"

That same deep sigh comes from Oliver again before as he smiles at her. "Alright, Julie-bug. But first..." He lowers his voice, nodding to the spoon. "Finish that."

Felicity shakes her head, knowing exactly what he's going to do. She looks from the corner of her eye to see Jules doing as he says, licking the spoon clean before Oliver takes it. As he gets her another spoonful of whipped cream, her eyes get ridiculously huge with an inhaled, "Ooh!" as he hands it back to her.

 _Oh, for the love of…_

They are _so_ going to have a talk later.

But before Felicity can give him The Look, Jules does it for her.

"Momma," she says loudly, holding the spoon high, "Daddy just got me more whipped cream."

It's the cutest _frakking_ thing Felicity's heard all morning and before she knows it, she's snorting in laughter, especially when Oliver lets out a breathy, " _Jules_."

"We don't lie to each other, Daddy," Jules replies primly, right before taking another healthy bite of whipped cream. The sweetness makes her smile and then she's fully focused on the treat once more with a soft, "Mmm."

"You're right," Oliver says with a nod, kissing her temple. "You're very right." He makes a point of looking at Felicity. "I'm sorry."

Felicity's still grinning as she finishes cutting the waffle to pieces. "As long as you're the one handling the sugar crash and burn later, I am good."

Oliver deflates a bit at that, looking at Jules and her snack. Yeah, he's in for it later, especially with a second helping, all on top of the waffle she hasn't even eaten yet. But he doesn't argue, because he knows he's earned it.

He kisses the little girl's head again before setting her down.

Ellie smacks her lips together with an insistent noise, pulling Felicity's attention back to her. She's straining in her chair, trying to reach for the waffle.

"Hold on a second, young lady," Felicity orders. She scoops dollops of whipped cream and pureed strawberries atop of the waffle pieces. It's gonna be a mess, but that's okay. The house is already a near-constant disaster and besides, life itself is messy. That's no reason to miss out on it. Ellie's noises grow more insistent, verging on the edge of whiny. "Hold your horses there, it's coming."

Good grief, are _both_ girls hitting growth spurts? Oh man, she really hopes not. That's entirely too much grumpiness to handle all at once. Not that she can really do anything about it. They're growing up, whether she likes it or not.

Most of the time she's in the 'not' category. Felicity has learned that she _loves_ these ages, messy as they are.

"Alright!" Felicity turns to the baby. "You ready?" she asks Ellie in a teasing voice, grinning as she crouches and tiptoes toward the infant, playing with her.

Ellie instantly picks up on her mother's mood. She instinctively knows something fun is coming and she babbles excitedly, clapping her hands before ducking her head down with a giddy grin, trying to crouch just like her mother.

Oliver's got his phone out, his eyes on the screen but darting to the real thing with a huge smile as he records the moment, capturing it for them to rewatch over and over again through the years. And they will, she knows, because Ellie hasn't even gotten the plate yet and already she's so excited she might burst.

When she reaches Ellie, Felicity rubs her nose against the baby's in blatant affection, the plate _just_ out of her reach.

"Don't leave her hanging, honey," Oliver says.

Felicity can hear the grin in his voice and she glances at him, smiling in return before turning back to Ellie.

She slowly sets the plate down in front of her.

Ellie's got a fist full of waffle before the plate hits the tray. Whipped cream and pureed strawberries squeeze out between her tiny knuckles as she sticks her entire fist into her gaping mouth.

The instant it touches her tongue, her eyes get huge, her gaze switching to her father with the funniest expression.

" _Have you tried this?"_ her face asks. " _Do you know how good this is?"_

For an infant who has yet to utter anything approaching a word, her meaning is painfully clear.

"Mmmmmmmmmm!" Ellie yells sharply before diving face-first into the plate. Felicity and Oliver laugh as she lets out another loud, "Nmmmmm!"

"Oh, Ellie!" Felicity says in a half-protest, but it fades into more laughter because her daughter's face is absolutely _covered_ in a mess of red and white when she looks back up. There's strawberries on her nose and whipped cream across her eyebrows, but she clearly doesn't care at all because she's bouncing excitedly again with a, "Guh! Guh! Mmmmmmm!" of bubbly enthusiasm, earning more laughter from her parents.

"There is a bath in your future, little one," Felicity tells her, grabbing a piece of waffle before it can plummet to the floor as she looks back at Oliver. "Did you get all that?"

"All of it," he says with a nod, his grin still in place, but now he's got his phone turned over to Jules where she's sitting back on the barstool, humming happily with the spoon in her mouth.

She totally double-dipped - rather, she _triple_ -dipped, thanks to her father. They both know it, but Felicity doesn't call her out on it. Not this time.

Ellie makes another loud noise and Felicity looks back to her to find the baby touching her fingers together experimentally, marveling at the way they stick together. She's already downed half the waffle, which is _absurd_. A growth spurt, for sure, and it only confirms how _not_ ready Felicity is.

But she's even less ready for what happens next.

Ellie picks up a piece of waffle and holds it out.

"Ju," she says loudly.

Felicity blinks, startled. She cannot _possibly_ have heard what she thought she heard.

"Did…" Oliver starts. Felicity doesn't have to look at him to know his jaw's on the ground because hers is right there with his. "Did she just…"

Ellie waves her hand. "Ju!"

She's holding out the piece of waffle toward her sister.

"Oh my god," Felicity breathes. "Oh my god, Oliver…"

"Ju!" Ellie repeats with growing excitement.

"Is she trying to say my name?" Jules asks looking between her parents.

"Ju!" Ellie shouts again, bouncing. She's so thrilled about this, about being understood and the focus of everyone's attention.

"Oh baby girl," Felicity says, pressing her hand to her mouth. She feels like sobbing, which is _ridiculous_. This is a happy moment and quite possibly the cutest thing she's ever seen - and _Oliver got it on video_ \- but it still hits her painfully hard. She wants to curl around both her girls and freeze this moment in time. It slips by so fast - too fast - and she just wants to stay right _here_ , in this moment. Pressing her lips together, she manages an uneven, "Oh my god," as she turns to look at Jules.

"I think she wants to share her waffle with you, Julie-bug," Oliver confirms, his voice just as rough as Felicity's.

Jules looks skeptical of her father's words - and a little grossed out - but she still slides off the barstool and pads her way over to her baby sister. Cheerios crunch under her feet and there's a squishy noise as she steps on a fallen piece of strawberry-soaked waffle. Felicity couldn't care less about any of that, though, because Ellie is handing Jules a soggy piece of her breakfast as if it's the greatest gift ever given. The older girl takes it with a hesitant look. Felicity can't blame her - Ellie _had_ just dove face-first into the waffle - but Ellie has no hesitance at all.

"Mmmmm," the baby says, smacking her lips together. She's imitating eating it and Felicity can't muffle the soft little cry because this is the most precious ever. "Mmmmm. Ju, mmmmmm."

Jules pops the bite of waffle into her mouth and Ellie claps delightedly before pressing a sticky palm to her sister's cheek.

"Thanks, Ellie," Jules says, looking around like she's not sure if she's being ridiculous or not by attempting to communicate with her baby sister.

Ellie just laughs and claps her pudgy hands again with absolute joy.

Felicity can't stand it another second. She needs to hug her girls and she doesn't care that it means she'll be taking a bath right along with them or the tiny strawberry handprints that will absolutely stain her shirt.

Life's too damn short to care about that kind of thing.

She closes in on them both. She unbuckles Ellie swiftly, picking her up before kneeling down to pull Jules in with her other arm.

"Oh, I love you both so much," she murmurs, pressing kisses into both of their hair before pulling back to look at Ellie. "And _you_ , my little motor-mouth! You're talking!"

"Ju!" Ellie proclaims again, pointing at her sister. She's so very proud of herself.

"Yeah! Jules!" Felicity confirms with a laugh. "And you are just the sweetest baby in the whole world to share with your big sister, you know that?"

Ellie's response is to blow a strawberry-whipped-cream raspberry at her mother, which only makes Felicity laugh. Her language skills aren't exactly _developed_ , but still… this is big.

"You're growing up way too fast," Felicity sighs, brushing Ellie's curls from her forehead. Her palm brushes over a tiny strawberry in her hair. Felicity makes a silly face. "You need to slow down, please," she tells her before looking at her oldest. "You both do." Behind the baby, Oliver's fiddling with something, making Felicity look up. "What are you doing?"

"Sending that video to everyone we know," he replies before looking up from his phone. His eyes are shiny with unshed tears when they meet hers, his grin watery.

She's in the same boat.

It's mornings like this one that floor her the most, the realization that they've made themselves this family, and that it's _perfect_. It absolutely bowls her over some days.

Oliver chuckles as he heads across the kitchen to join them. "I expect a bunch of crying emojis and hearts back from your mom any second."

Felicity laughs because that will definitely happen. And she'll be surprised if Thea and Roy aren't here within the hour. Sure enough, Oliver's phone starts vibrating where it sits on the counter, but he ignores it. His focus is right where it needs to be. He slides down onto the floor with them, settling on top of crushed cheerios as Ellie reaches for him. He takes her with a happy grin and Felicity pulls Jules further onto her lap. She holds the little girl close, rocking her slightly.

"Ju!" Ellie announces loudly again, looking at her father as she points at Jules, showing off her new trick.

"I know, Ellie-bug," he says. "We're pretty proud of you."

Ellie beams at the praise, even if she doesn't really understand it. She gets the tone, and that's the important part. She understands she's made her parents happy.

"I can't believe her first word is Jules," Felicity says, staring at her baby in awe. "That's just… Oliver, that's just…" She chokes up instead, unable find the words to explain how that makes her feel.

"Yeah," he agrees, meeting her eyes. They don't need words. They're on the same page without them. "I know."

Felicity leans over their daughters' heads to kiss her husband. It's chaste considering the bundles between them, but it lingers, serving as a reminder of the solid base that's allowed for _all_ of this. It makes her heart soar, makes her feel so light that it's heady. Because it's not just about the two of them - it's about their _entire_ family, about the home and life they've built together, the home they'll continue to build together.

She's so insanely happy with all of it, so grateful for it.

She wants to live in this moment forever.

"Daddy?" Jules asks a moment after her parents end their kiss. Their foreheads are pressed together and Oliver doesn't seem able to relinquish that contact because he just tilts his head down slightly to look at his daughters pressed between them.

"Yeah, honey?" he asks.

"I'm kinda hungry," Jules admits. As if on cue, her stomach rumbles loudly. "It's nice that Ellie said a word, but can I have a waffle, too?"

Oliver laughs and touches her little cheek. "Of course," he replies. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, we just got a bit distracted there for a minute. Next waffle's for you. Promise. It won't take more than a minute."

"'Kay," she agrees.

Her tummy growls even louder as Oliver passes Ellie back to Felicity before getting up to head back to the waffle maker.

"Is that a hungry sound or is that a _growing_ sound, my big girl?" Felicity asks, poking at Jules' stomach. The little girl's giggle is a whole lot more genuine this time and Felicity revels in her daughter's smile as she snuggles her closer. "You gotta stop getting bigger on me, okay? It's official, all growth spurts are cancelled. I want to hold on to both of you just the way you are right now."

And, while Oliver hums to himself a few feet away, fixing them breakfast, and Ellie chews on her thumb as she gurgles, and Jules rests her head against her mother's shoulder, that's exactly what Felicity does.


	21. August 2032

**August 2032**

For a guy who'd been dumped that morning, Will's in a really great mood. To be fair, it had been less the end of a relationship and more an inevitable moving on, a satisfying last page at the end of a short book, and he doesn't regret how things went in the least.

Addy had been fun. He'd liked hanging out with her and the sex had really been pretty damned good, but he'd never once deluded himself into thinking they'd keep up pretenses once she went back to Central City for her senior year of college. He hadn't even _wanted_ it to. He's got enough going on in his life. He doesn't need an actual girlfriend. Casual dating and short term hookups are, in his experience, the way to go.

Work takes up the bulk of his time, but it's his family that has most of his focus. Ever since the accident that took his mom's life and left Bethy in the hospital for weeks back in February, he's grounded himself in being more present for his family, for _both_ sides of it.

He's the only link Bethy will ever have to her mom. She's too little to even remember her and his stepfather absolutely needs the help. But he's also more aware than most that life is short and unpredictable - as a firefighter, he sees that every day - and the life his dad and stepmom choose to lead puts them more in harm's way than most. So, it seems like such an easy choice to prioritize his relationships with his siblings and parents over anything more transient that he might find with a girl.

"Will!" a little voice shouts from the back seat of his car, as if to underscore his thoughts. "Want yum yums."

"Hold on, Bethy," he tells her, maneuvering his car into a parking spot at city hall and grabbing the diaper bag he keeps on hand. If you'd asked him a year ago, he would never have guessed he'd have a car seat in his car and a repurposed gym bag full of diapers and teething rings. But that's life. And, as much as he misses his mom, he can't imagine his life going any other way, now. "Want some applesauce?" he asks, catching his two-year-old sister's eye in the series of mirrors set up so he can check on her in her rear-facing seat even while he drives. She's almost big enough to turn it around, which sort of blows him away. It feels like just last week she'd kept him up all night with colic and he'd escaped to his dad's house instead of dealing with it.

"Yes!" she declares happily, making grabby hands back toward him.

"Give me a second to open it, squirt," he says, unscrewing one of those miraculous applesauce pouches that even a two-year-old rarely makes a mess with. It's out of his hands the instant the treat is within Bethy's reach and she hums happily as she sucks down the applesauce with gusto. "You could've said 'thanks,' you know."

The scolding is halfhearted at best, though, because she grins hugely around the nozzle of the applesauce and, damn it, Will is a sucker for all of his siblings. It probably helps that Bethy looks _just_ like his mom and that socks him right in the gut, because wow... he misses her.

But he's got people in the here and now that need him, and he can't allow himself to be anywhere but the present.

"Alright, let's get moving before we're late," he says, mostly to himself, as he unbuckles and grabs the diaper bag. He really should get a real one. Swapping out sippy cups for gym socks is getting old. But, it works for now. He slips out of his absurdly reasonable, top-safety-rated car and opens the back door, getting to work unfastening Bethy from her seat.

"Wanna play," Bethy says to him as he works. She makes her eyes utterly _huge_ as she says it and blinks with an innocence she absolutely does not possess. If Will hadn't been so much older than his other siblings, if he couldn't remember so clearly when Jules and Ellie and Nate had pulled that same damned look, he might have bought it. But he's grown up around little kids and he's well aware that Bethany knows precisely what she's doing.

Besides, they've already got plans.

"Soon," he promises her. "We've got fun plans today, squirt, but we've gotta do something first."

"Wanna play!" Bethy shouts with increasing annoyance.

"Then be a good girl and we will," Will tells her sternly with a firm look. He might be a sucker for his siblings, but he's not about to be a pushover. His stepfather caves with Bethy way too much as it is. He's not going to follow in those footsteps and the sooner his baby sister learns that, the better.

"I good," Bethy tells him, her little face crumpling. She doesn't cry, though, and he's so grateful for that that it's almost absurd. Bethy's wail sounds like a dying animal and it never fails to set every nerve on edge.

"Glad to hear it," he tells her, lifting her up from the seat and resting her on his hip as he shuts the car. "Let's keep it that way so we can play and have fun later, okay?"

"'Kay," she agrees, chewing on the nozzle to her applesauce.

He hefts her up a bit, getting a better hold as the two of them head up the steps toward the entrance to City Hall. A grimace pulls at his lips as he jogs up the steps, keen to get this over with as fast as possible. He hates coming here. It leaves him feeling like he's at a disadvantage, like he's off-kilter. And, in some ways, he is.

His estranged grandmother has been mayor for fourteen of the last eighteen years. She's powerful, beloved by the city and her staff, and being here, being on her home turf… it makes Will feel petty. It makes him feel like he's being childish for holding on to a lifelong grudge against an old woman.

But Moira Queen is anything other than helpless and it would be a dire mistake to see her as weak. She is a master of manipulation and public opinion. Will knows better than to give her an inch because she'll take a mile in return and make you feel like you asked her to do it.

So… maybe he had offered to pick Bethy up an hour or two early today. A toddler makes for an awesome excuse and buffer all in one. And, the fact that his little sister is the spitting image of his mother gives Will a bit of a boost, too. If anything in this world had ever been able to make Moira Queen uneasy, it was absolutely his mom. Will learned years ago not to face off against his grandmother without a plan.

Which is why he's pushing his way through the glass doors to City Hall armed with a toddler.

Much to his chagrin, he's been here frequently enough that he knows his way around the building and the guy working the front desk just waves him through without question.

They take the elevator entirely because Bethy likes to push all of the buttons. It'll probably annoy the hell out of whoever gets in there next, but Will doesn't so much care about that. He _does_ care about the way Bethy's eyes brighten in delight as she makes the buttons for each floor light up.

"Oh, not that one, squirt," he says, pulling her hand back as she reaches for the alarm. "All the others are fine, but let's leave that one be."

"Red button," she declares, reaching for it again.

"Very good," he tells her, grabbing her fingers and kissing them as he steps back just far enough that she can't inadvertently set off the building alarms. "It's red. Good job. Super proud of you for knowing that. How'd you get so big?"

She blows a raspberry at him instead of answering with words, which feels like the most appropriate punctuation possible for a two-year-old.

When the elevator dings a moment later - they'd only been going one floor - he steps out into a flurry of activity. That's not incredibly unusual around his grandmother's office, but also feels more orderly than usual and he pauses to soak in the environment for a moment.

Two people look like a well-oiled machine as they put together binders in tandem. There's a few people on phones who appear to be communicating whatever they've accomplished through a series of intricate hand gestures that Will can't quite seem to figure out as a tall woman with dark hair taps something into a tablet.

"Hey, Will." He turns to the side to see his ten-year-old little brother nearby with a coffee carafe. "You're early," Nate continues, glancing up at a clock. He keeps walking, though, never breaks stride as he refills the cup of someone on the phone. "I can't leave yet. They need me."

" _No_ ," the brunette woman with the tablet says sharply, pulling his attention over to her. She's not talking to him or Nate, though, she's talking to someone on one of the phones. "Give me that." She leans over the guy's desk and takes the phone from his hand. "Jack? Hey, this is Amelia. You're gonna want to rethink that position… Uh, no, not because the mayor said to - though she did - but because _I_ said to. Do you really want to be the lone holdout on the council, because believe me if you stick with this position, you will be."

Will just stares at her as she works. He's not the only one. Both of the other people on the phones have finished their calls and the binder-assembly crew has paused to watch her, too. Nate seems like he's the only one still working, playing the part of a barista for everyone there. Will's not sure how, though, because this woman is… she's a force of nature, captivating, and he can't pull his eyes away from her even though Bethy is pulling on his collar in a way that digs into his neck.

"Don't even try that with me, Jack," she continues, shaking her head. She's leaning so far over the desk that she's practically climbed atop it. Her respectable-length skirt has ridden up to just-this-side-of-unacceptable levels and her silk blouse is… it's draping very nicely and Will's more than a little envious of the eyeful that the guy she'd taken the phone from must be getting. "If you want the mayor to play with you on cap-and-trade, you're _going_ to support the Every Family Home initiative… Jack… _Jack_ … It's not a debate, Jack! I'm telling you how it is…. Yes… Yes, I'm authorized to offer that…. Don't even try that with me, you know we can pass this without you, but the mayor wants a unified front and you're going to give it to her because you really, really want to keep your seat and it would help you a whole lot if your _very popular_ mayor were pictured in the paper shaking your hand and thanking you for putting aside politics for the good of the city's homeless population, wouldn't it?"

There's a long moment of silence where the brunette's face turns a gorgeous but frustrated shade of red. Will feels sort of suspended in time as he watches her, but that might be because no one other than Nate and Bethy are moving. Most of them don't seem to even be _breathing_.

But then the brunette starts talking again and it's with a fury that's both fierce and a little blinding.

"I swear on the damned city charter, Jack, that if you do not back the mayor on this, I am going to find whoever is running against you and I will run their campaign for free," she swears, before cocking her head to the side and pausing, amending her statement. "No, you know what? If you don't back it, I'm going to run against you myself. It's not really what I want to do, but we both know I can kick your ass from here to election day. So here's what it comes down to - do you help a whole lot of homeless citizens improve their lives and earn yourself the mayor's thanks or do you have me as a thorn in your side for the rest of your political career?"

The slow grin that works its way across her face is visible from across the room and Will feels like someone pulled the rug out from underneath him. She was pretty before, sexy as hell, but that _smile_ … holy shit.

"Aw, you know you love me, Jack," she's saying, scooting back off the desk and straightening her skirt. "What was it you said was your favorite thing about me? Was it my 'gumption?' ...Mmm, maybe just not when it's focused on you. Give Cecile and the girls my best. I'm gonna go and let the mayor know she has your full-throated support."

A second later, she's holding the phone skyward with a booming "And _that_ is how you get Jack Baker's backing, boys and girls!"

There's a lot of excitement around the room then, a couple of cheers and someone gives her a literal pat on the back. A flush of triumph has worked its way across her cheeks and she's just… she's absolutely captivating.

"Amelia's awesome," Nate says suddenly, as if reading Will's thoughts. He hadn't even realized his little brother was standing next to him. "She's crazy fierce and she knows how to get things done. Grandma says she's the best. She's not chief of staff, but I bet she will be some day. I'm pretty sure it's only because she hasn't been done with college very long."

He looks from Nate back to where the brunette - Amelia - had been standing, but she's moved. In fact, she's walking right toward them. For a long, _long_ moment, Will's aware of absolutely nothing else but the woman striding his direction. Or… actually, maybe it's Nate's direction, he realizes when she reaches them and holds out her mug for Nate to pour her some coffee. The kid is more than pleased to do exactly that. It's sort of silly.

"Thanks," she says with a grin at Nate. "You have been a most excellent helper and absolutely played a part in our success today."

Nate's awfully proud of himself at the proclamation, standing straighter and squaring his shoulders as he nods crisply at Amelia, but her eyes drift over to Will as she takes a deep sip of her scalding hot, very black coffee.

"Congratulations," he tells her.

"Thank you," she murmurs into her mug.

"You know that's not what most people would consider a celebratory drink," he tells her. He doesn't really _mean_ to make his voice go gritty and check her out while he says it, but that happens anyhow.

God damn but that blouse should be illegal on her. It's not even especially low cut, but the way that silk clings to her chest, he just… yeah he's been looking too long.

"Are you flirting with me while holding a toddler?" she asks with blatant amusement as she sets her coffee cup down on a nearby desk.

Nate huffs and walks off somewhere, grumbling about girls and how this is an important place of business. Personally, Will can't _wait_ for his little brother to discover an interest in the fairer sex because wow is he gonna have fun throwing things back at the kid one day.

"That depends entirely on if it's working," Will replies with a smirk.

She's interested, that much is obvious immediately. Will's very, very good at picking up on body language and between the way her pupils dilate and the way the silk blouse absolutely does not hide her nipples tightening in the least, she's particularly easy to read. That he manages to keep his groan internal at the sight is something of a personal triumph.

"Might work better if you didn't have applesauce all over your neck," she replies. Her tone is playful and she's staring at his adam's apple as she licks her lips. He swallows hard, because he feels her gaze so strongly that she might as well be touching him. A riot of shivers sets out across his skin and he feels like she's stroking every damned nerve ending he's got. He can't remember the last time a woman had him so utterly drawn in so quickly. Had that _ever_ happened?

"Don't like kids?" he asks as Bethy lays her head on his shoulder with a heavy sigh.

"I love kids," she corrects, giving the toddler a gentle smile. "I'm just not used to being hit on by guys holding their…" her voice drifts off expectantly.

"Little sister," he supplies, his lopsided grin growing by leaps and bounds at the proclamation.

"Ah," she notes, giving Bethy another smile. "So you're on double-duty for the big brother role today, then?"

"I am most days, when I'm not working," he agrees. "Family's important to me."

"Right," she breathes out, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She's trying to find a flaw. He can see that. He's got plenty of them, frankly, but so far he's passing her quiet tests with flying colors. "So… what is it you do that you aren't at work at 4:30 on a Thursday?"

"I'm a firefighter," he replies, smiling at her in earnest. He can feel the edges of his eyes crinkling in amusement. They only deepen when she makes a little noise in the back of her throat.

"A firefighter?" she asks.

"Starling City Fire and Rescue Station 52," he confirms. "And as someone who's responded to _two_ calls in the last month involving homeless residents who collapsed with easily treatable illnesses, I'm very grateful for the work you're doing to help get people off the streets and back on their feet."

"Well," Amelia says a bit more soberly, brushing some hair behind her ear. "It's your grandmother's initiative. So, maybe it's her you should thank. I just work here."

"My grandmother…" he echoes, feeling a bit like ice water is slipping down his spine.

"Yeah," she agrees. "You know, your grandmother. The mayor."

"Right," he bites out. Suddenly it feels like there's an enormous expanse between them, but somehow that does nothing at all to dim the way she manages to send a zing of attraction right through him without even trying. "So… you know who I am, then."

She laughs at that, light and disbelieving as she shakes her head. "Will Queen, I knew who you were the first time we met. I definitely remember it now."

Well, _that_ throws him for a loop. Suddenly he's wracking his brain because he could not possibly forget this girl. She stands apart from every woman he's ever met and he's pretty sure she's not even trying. But… but nothing registers.

"The first time?" he asks.

She chuckles and looks to the side, leaving him staring at her profile. She's beautiful from every angle, he finds, and he wants to see more of her, make her laugh with a completely different tone than she is right now, because right now he feels like he's not in on the joke.

"We were both camping," she says as she looks back, taking pity on him. "That's how I _got_ this job. Your dad put me in touch with your grandmother's office."

"You were putting up a tent," he realizes, as he looks at her in a whole new light. He feels like maybe he's seeing clearly for the first time in a long time. "You washed your hair in the river."

She pauses at that before tilting her head in agreement. There's nothing overt, but something in her eyes is obviously pleased at being remembered and he's hit with the sudden sense that he'd missed something back then, that he'd gone left when he should have gone right, and he doesn't know quite how to backpedal.

"I did," she agrees quietly. "And then I walked back to the campsite with one of my friends to give you and my other friend, Maggie, some space."

Maggie… he doesn't remember her. He has a vague recollection of dark hair and soft lips and long legs, but none of it means anything. It's all indistinct, ill-formed in his mind's eye. Amelia, though… Amelia he remembers. He remembers the way the air felt charged with expectation when their eyes met, just like it does now. He remembers her rising up out of the water like some kind of siren, dark wet hair trailing behind her and a soaked, pale blue lace bra that hid nothing.

It's this very instant that he knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that he made the wrong choice that day. There's something _here_ , something he's only found maybe once before, with his ex-girlfriend Allison back in college. He's not really looking for that kind of depth right now. He's not sure if he even has room for that in his life, but maybe… maybe for the right woman… maybe if it were _real_...

"I'll tell her you said hi, if you like," Amelia offers, pulling him back to the moment.

"Who?" he asks, because everyone other than Amelia has faded well into the background at this point.

" _Maggie_ ," she replies a bit incredulously.

"Oh… Sure," he says easily with a shrug. "If you want to. Tell her I hope she's doing well."

"Did you want me to pass along your number…" Amelia fishes.

"Actually, I'd rather you keep it for yourself," he tells her.

She sucks in a ragged breath and raises one eyebrow as her gaze locks heavily with his. It feels like the temperature in the room goes up at least a few degrees and lightning chases something across the expanse of his skin. He wants… he wants _something_. He doesn't even know what, but he wants _something_ with this woman.

"That's a bad idea," she replies in a near-whisper.

"And why's that?" he asks, shuffling forward half a step, edging ever-so-slightly into her personal space. She absolutely does not back up in the least. In fact, if he's not mistaken, she leans inward just a bit.

"Conflict of interest," she supplies. "I work for your grandmother. You're a _Queen_. You're…"

"I'm…?" he prods.

"Someone my best friend saw first," Amelia points out. "And most definitely called dibs on."

"I can debunk all of those reasons," he offers. "If you're interested."

"I'm interested in you _trying_ ," she replies. They're scarcely a foot apart. Bethy's weight against his shoulder redoubled some time in the last few minutes and he knows without even looking that the toddler's fallen asleep. It's just as well, he's grateful not to have her interference at the moment.

"First of all, I don't have any kind of relationship with my grandmother, so that's not really a point of contention," he starts.

"Isn't it?" she asks.

"It's not for me. Won't be for her. Doesn't have to be for you," he tells her before moving on. "Secondly, I'm a Queen, but I was a Clayton first. Neither the public nor the press look at me the same way as the rest of my father's family because I'm the bastard borne from my father's youthful indiscretions. Now, my _family_ doesn't see it that way, but the rest of society? They do."

"Their loss," she tells him.

"It doesn't bother me," he shrugs. "It never has. I know who I am and I know my place in my family. The rest doesn't matter."

"And Maggie?" Amelia asks curiously.

"Expiration date," Will tells her.

"I'm _sorry_?" Amelia laughs. He wants to taste it. He wants to kiss her while she's laughing, feel the vibration of her amusement against his lips, breathe it in, let it soak into his soul. What the hell is this? How can he - on sight - feel _this much_ toward this woman?

"Dibs has expired by now," he tells her, the words coming out heavy and affected. "I didn't sleep with your friend. I didn't date her. Whatever she and I had is long over and you and I… you and I haven't even started yet."

Her breath catches and she stares at his lips, running her tongue over her teeth. He absolutely cannot help the strangled noise that gets stuck in his throat at the sight of that and if he weren't holding Bethy, he's pretty sure he'd step forward, rest a hand on her cheek and test exactly where they stand.

But he is holding Bethy.

And beyond that, they're in her workplace and they're absolutely not alone.

"William."

The voice shifts everything on a dime. He steps back, feels steel working its way down his spine as he grits his teeth and turns slightly.

"Grandmother," he greets. His voice is all chilly, hard edges that are impossible to miss.

"I understand you're here to pick up your brother," she supplies primly. Nate's at her side, looking incredibly proud to be a part of a grown-up conversation. He absolutely misses the nuances of Will's relationship with their grandmother, such as it is. He's only ten. He doesn't get it yet. "You look well."

"I am," Will grits out.

"Glad to hear it," she replies. Her hair is entirely silver these days, but she still looks much the same as Will remembers from the first time he met her. She's stately, his grandmother. Composed. He'd give almost anything to watch that composure shatter, to see her express something, _anything_ , showing that she regretted in the least what she'd done. To him, to his father, to their entire family. But she never has. She never will. And Will is not the sort to ever let that go. His stubbornness, ironically, seems to have come from her. "And you're still working that job with the firehouse?"

"I'm a firefighter," he snaps at her, incredulity slipping across his features. "It's not an after-school hobby. It's my career."

"Honestly, William," she chides. "I was only making conversation."

"Not very well," he bites back.

"Fine," she replies, holding her head high. "Forgive my attempt at civility. How dare I be so bold as to attempt to talk to you."

"You and I have nothing to talk about," he grits out.

He holds her stare for an abnormally long time, right up until Nate sighs heavily and draws both of their attention. Will immediately feels bad when he sees his little brother's crestfallen face. This isn't fair to him. All he's ever known of Moira Queen was a grandmother who doted on his existence every moment of his life. She's encouraged him, been proud of him, made absolutely no secret that he's her favorite - even if she's never said so outright. Nate's never had to wonder why his grandmother never thought he was even worth knowing. He doesn't remember being five-years-old and crying in the corner of his kindergarten class because every other kid's dad had shown up for the family picnic. That's not his reality. And as much as Will cannot stand his grandmother, he also can't begrudge Nate the positive relationship he has with her.

"Sorry, kid," Will tells Nate, squeezing his shoulder and pulling him closer in a one-armed hug. Nate relaxes a little bit immediately. He's such a tactile kid, so eager for affection. Even just a half of a hug seems to mean the world to him. "You have a good time?"

"Yes," Nate says, looking up at him with suddenly bright eyes. "I learned a lot. I don't like politics, but it's very important to understand for business. If I'm gonna run QI one day, I need a good background."

Will grins down at the boy. He's so _serious_. Will's pretty sure he's never been that serious in his entire life, but definitely not when he was ten-years-old. "You're gonna run the _world_ one day, kid," he tells Nate, ruffling his carefully combed hair as the younger boy bats his hand away. "But for now, I think maybe you've had enough career-prep. How about we go do something fun and way more age-appropriate than interning in the mayor's office over summer break?"

Nate looks suspicious of this suggestion, his eyes narrowing as Will chuckles. "Like what?" he asks with more skepticism than any soon-to-be fifth-grader should be capable of.

"You don't want it to be a surprise?" Will asks.

"Am I the sort of person who usually likes surprises?" he asks, raising both eyebrows. That'd be a firm 'no.' In that way, and in so many others, Nate is very much like his mother.

"Fine," Will relents, shaking his head affectionately. "I thought we'd hit the county fair. It's a short walk from here. We can ride a few rides, grab some incredibly unhealthy dinner and catch the fireworks before we head home."

The look on Nate's face makes it very clear that he can't decide how he feels about this idea. He's a good kid, but sometimes he forgets to just _be a kid_. Will's recently decided it's his personal mission to act like an elementary schooler while he still is one.

"You can help me win Bethy a stuffed animal and we can gorge ourselves on cotton candy," Will points out. Nate's weak spot is sweets, always has been, and Will knew before he even said it that an offer of cotton candy would earn him Nate's agreement.

And, sure enough, his face lights up at the idea. "The blue kind?" he asks, as if that makes a difference.

"Any kind you want," Will tells him, grin spreading from ear to ear as he watches his little brother's growing delight.

"You don't want to have _too_ many sweets, though."

God, but his grandmother's voice grates on Will's nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Can't she just let _anything_ go? Can't she just let Nate be a damned kid?

"I thought maybe I'd just buy him his own cotton candy machine," Will tells her tightly. "He can keep it in his room and make as much as he wants on demand."

"There's no call for sarcasm, William," she berates. Her tone makes it seem like she's talking down to him. She has a way of doing that, of making him feel six years old all over again, hiding in his father's kitchen and listening to him tell his grandmother that _no_ , no she cannot see him because his mother isn't here and he made her a promise.

His grandmother had used that same tone on his dad. And Will… Will hadn't understood then. His mom's parents both died when he was too little to remember them and the idea of a grandmother, in his head, had been someone who'd bake cookies with him and push him on the swings at the park. But Moira Queen is not the cookie baking-type. At least not with him. Will had learned that the hard way.

"I'm surprised you recognize it," Will tells her dryly. "Isn't sarcasm a bit too close to humor for you?"

"William Clayton," she says sharply. "I expect considerably mo-"

" _Queen_ ," he corrects, cutting her off abruptly. His voice is as cold as ice, which is sort of incredible because his blood is absolutely boiling. Nate laces their fingers together, a silent show of solidarity that Will desperately needs. Nate helps. Bethy, her soft little puffs of breath against his neck as she slumbers on… she helps too, in her own way. He is very present with his family in this moment, regardless of his grandmother's words. "Despite your very _best_ efforts, I am a Queen. I am my father's son and you do not have the right to take that away from me."

"Of course you are," she replies in a hushed voice. It's the first time in his life he can remember her looking uneasy. Color drains from her face and her head is dipped almost deferentially. Will's not sure what to do with that. "I misspoke. Your name _was_ Clayton. Old habits die hard, I'm afraid. You're obviously a part of this family and I would never do anything to try and distance you from it."

With those words, any trace of goodwill that her discomfort might have earned her absolutely evaporates. The nerve of her…

"Forgive me, but if that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place, would we?" he asks.

His point is utterly undeniable and his grandmother simply holds her chin high and stares at him with silent defiance. Will doesn't care. At least that's what he tells himself. He gave up on his grandmother more than a decade ago and it would be foolish to expect anything to change now.

"I don't have to have cotton candy," Nate says in a tiny voice. Will looks down to find his little brother glancing between him and their grandmother uneasily. "It's not that big a deal. Even if they have the blue kind. I don't want you to be upset at each other, so we can just skip it."

"No way," Will tells him, kneeling down so he can see Nate eye-to eye. It's awkward with Bethy asleep and Nate's actually a bit taller than him when he squats, apparently. When had that happened? Is he growing _again_? No wonder he always wants snacks. "No way. This wasn't about you and it wasn't about cotton candy, okay? Everybody wants you to have fun. Nobody's mad at you, okay? Not your grandmother and certainly not me."

"I'm not upset with you," Moira agrees. Her voice is thick and her smile forced, but Nate doesn't seem to notice. "You should enjoy your time with your brother. Everyone deserves a bit of a treat now and then."

"You did good work today," Amelia chimes in. "You should take a break, reward yourself."

Will hadn't forgotten she was there. He's entirely too aware of her presence for that. But he _had_ sort of overlooked that she'd been an uncomfortable witness to his ongoing spat with his grandmother. In theory, that should make things incredibly awkward. In practice, it doesn't quite play out that way. He glances up at her to find her already watching him. There's no mistaking the way her breathing speeds up or the way she hesitates a beat before smiling kindly at Nate.

Judging from the quiet hum from his grandmother, Will's pretty sure he's not the only one there to pick up on the oddly intense vibe between them.

Unfortunately.

"You did good work, too!" Nate declares, looking at Amelia with excitement. "You should come with!"

"I… I don't…" Amelia starts.

"You should," Will cuts in. His voice is soft as he looks up at her. "I'll win you a stuffed animal, too."

"But no cotton candy?" she asks with a hint of a grin.

"If it'll make you really smile, you can have mine," he replies. "Every last bite of it."

Will ignores the disgruntled huff of annoyance from his side. He doesn't give a damn about his grandmother's opinion, but Amelia's eyes dart her way quickly before meeting his gaze again.

He goes to stand up fully, but Bethy slips to the side and throws him off balance a little, making him stumble slightly. It's Amelia's hand that steadies him, reaching out and gripping his forearm. He must have scuffed his feet against the carpet at some point because there's a literal shock that zaps him the moment her fingers graze his skin. It's _visible_ , a tiny little bolt of static electricity that leaves him sucking in an unsteady breath and staring at her in blatant surprise.

He hasn't kissed her yet, has barely even _touched_ her, and the tension is so thick that it swamps the room, makes him feel like his head is swimming.

It's amazing and he wants more of it.

"Come with us," he says, some of his teasing nature falling to the wayside. He wants this so badly. There's nothing to joke about with that.

But Amelia withdraws her hand like she's been burned and takes a small step back. "I'm not exactly dressed for a county fair," she points out.

"I'll buy you a t-shirt," he tells her.

"I doubt they sell shoes," she replies, tilting her head down toward the heels that nearly put her eye level with him.

"I'll carry you," he grins.

She laughs and ducks her head, looking up at him through a curtain of dark hair and it's… it's so beautiful he forgets how to breathe for a moment. "Don't you already have your hands full?" she asks, looking to Bethy.

"Piggy-back ride," he suggests. He's mostly kidding, but it earns him a full-throated laugh and Will has always been happy to look a bit foolish for the amusement of others. That's most definitely true with Amelia.

"I can carry Bethy," Nate chimes in. "I can even hold her while you guys go on the rides she can't go on."

Amelia's laugh dies off, but she's still smiling, a soft look of clear affection as she turns to Nate. It's just like when she'd looked at Bethy and it strikes Will that she'd been telling the truth earlier. She really very much does like kids.

"It's tempting," she says. She looks quickly in Will's direction. "But I have work I need to do."

' _You're tempting. But no_ ,' is what Will hears and his heart drops a little at the subtle rejection.

"But-" Nate starts. Will cuts him off, though, resting a hand on his little brother's shoulder. Nate's too little to get the undercurrent of what's going on and Will's not going to push a woman who's turned him down.

"Okay," Will tells her. "Congratulations again on getting the support you needed. I hope you have a nice night."

The way she watches him makes him think she might be reconsidering, but after a moment she says, "Thanks… It was good to see you again, Will."

"You too, Amelia," he agrees.

Every ounce of tension that's been there still lingers, but it feels like they're watching each other across a vast canyon right up until she turns and walks away. Will hits on a lot of girls and, though it works out in his favor more often than not, Amelia's far from the first one to shoot him down. She is, however, the first to make him feel like he wishes he could rewind the last few minutes and try a different approach.

"You were right," comes his grandmother's dry voice. "You are your father's son."

It's not a compliment.

Will bristles at the comment, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he glares his grandmother's direction.

"Nate, darling," she says, looking down at the boy only after she's spoken. "Why don't you run to my office and grab my purse for me? We can make this little afternoon trip of yours my treat."

There's clear confusion on Nate's face, which is well-placed because it's not like they have any need whatsoever for their grandmother to fund _anything_ , but he does as he's told. Because he's Nate and the day he doesn't listen to directions, Will is going to wonder what alternate universe he's fallen into.

But his thoughts don't linger on Nate long because the moment the boy's out of earshot, Will's grandmother is clearing her throat to earn his attention.

"Amelia is the most promising staffer I've ever had," she tells him sharply.

"She seems more than competent," Will agrees, wondering why the hell they're having this conversation.

"The very last thing she needs is the distraction of a young man who thinks a two month fling is a long term commitment," she clarifies.

Will absolutely cannot believe his ears. Defensiveness rises up, suffusing his entire body with annoyance and coiled up anger as he turns to face his grandmother fully.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he bites out.

"Don't I?" she questions, quirking a disbelieving eyebrow. "Amelia is going places professionally. What she needs is someone like her, someone driven with ambition and purpose, not a boy offering piggy back rides to the carousel."

"How about we let her decide what she needs," Will snaps back.

"William," his grandmother sighs with a tisk and a shake of her head. "She just did."

She _did_.

It's true.

But it's also nowhere near as simple as his grandmother is making it sound, because when he glances Amelia's direction, she's staring back. He's not about to approach her again. He took his shot and he's not gonna nag. But it's also not like she thought he was beneath her, not like his grandmother seems to be implying.

"Forgive me if I can't take seriously the relationship advice coming from a woman who screwed the man who murdered her first husband."

Moira Queen is a dangerous woman. She always has been. Will has never had any delusions about that, but it's never been as obvious to the naked eye as the look of pure hatred that flashes across her features.

"You have no business bringing up Robert and Malcolm," she hisses at him.

It's appropriate. William's always thought her a snake.

"And you have no business sticking your nose in my love life," WIll counters. He's not an imposing man, but he _is_ taller than his grandmother and stepping into her personal space leaves him feeling like he's looming over her. He hopes she feels the same way. "You and I share _two_ things - a last name and a quarter of my DNA. That's _it_. I put up with you because my father does. So, I will pass you the potatoes at holiday dinners and I will smile at you for my brother's sake, but don't for a _second_ think you have any say over my life. You don't even have my vote."

Something solidifies in her eyes, a resolve he's seen frequently from her in the face of adversity. But not like this. Not toward him.

 _Good_.

It's a whole lot more honest than any attempt at familial affection.

"Am I clear?" he asks.

"Perfectly," she responds.

Nate, bless him, has fantastic timing, running up with his grandmother's purse in hand almost immediately after the word leaves her mouth.

"I found it!" he says proudly, missing the undercurrent between them entirely, per usual, as he hands his grandmother her bag.

"Thank you, darling," she tells him as she takes it and unzippers the front compartment, pulling out her wallet.

"You can keep it," Will tells her, staying her hand. "I don't want your money."

"It's for Nate," she points out, giving him a heavy look. It's meant to remind him that they try not to do this in front of Nate. They're civil in his presence. He's young and he misses a lot, but he's not blind entirely. Sooner or later he's going to figure out something deeper is going on and he's going to want an explanation. But Will hasn't forgotten these things, he just also isn't willing to play by his grandmother's rules anymore.

"Well, you can pay for him when you take him," Will counters. "This is my treat. I have 'that job at the firehouse,' remember? I wouldn't offer if I couldn't afford it."

There's his trust fund, too, of course, but he doesn't touch that and his grandmother is well aware of it. He wants to make his own way and he doesn't want any part of the fortune passed down by his grandparents.

"Fine," she allows after a beat. There's really nothing else she can say, after all. She turns to Nate and straightens his collar, not that it needs it. "Have a good time and listen to your brother," she instructs, as if there had been any doubt he would follow Will's rules. "Tell your sisters I said hello, will you?"

"Sure," Nate agrees. "Thanks for letting me help today, Grandma."

"It's my pleasure, my hard little worker," she says, cupping his cheeks and smiling with obvious affection. Will wonders if she means it. He wonders if she ever has.

"Wanna get out of here?" Will asks his brother. "You're pretty tall these days. I wonder if they'll let you on the Mountain of Doom yet."

"Don't be silly," Nate smiles, shaking his head. "I'm not _that_ big."

It's true. He's not. But Will's not going to give up until he's got his baby brother laughing like the little kid he is and if that means a few teasing comments, he's more than ready to play the part.

"My mistake," Will deadpans. "I thought you were seventeen."

"Will, you're ridiculous," Nate grins. It's all teeth. "Jules is seventeen. I'm _ten_."

"Are you sure you're not twins?" Will says with mock seriousness. "I could swear you're taller than her."

"I am not!" Nate giggles.

And there it is.

His eyes are bright and his cheeks pink. He's a little kid wearing a button-down collared shirt and volunteering to pour coffee at his grandmother's office on his summer break. But, for a moment… for a moment he looks like the child he truly is. He'll spend plenty of time inside offices one day. Will is sure of that much. It's joy like this that he needs to make sure is also a big part of the kid's experiences. There's far more life than prepping binders and pouring coffee.

"Bye, Grandma!" Nate says cheerily, waving her way as he takes Will's free hand and the two of them head back toward the elevator. He's humming something happily beneath his breath. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, but it makes Will let go of his hand to wrap an arm around him and pull him closer.

They step into the elevator and he catches Amelia's eye again as he pushes the button for the ground floor. She smiles softly at him and he returns it. There's an underpinning of regret, of longing, and for an instant he thinks maybe she'll change her mind, maybe she'll tell him to hold the elevator and hurry to join them.

But she doesn't.

The door slides shut leaving him with his two youngest siblings and a full evening of fun planned for the immediate future. A huge part of him wishes she'd come with. He can picture it perfectly. Her sharp tongue sassing him as he misses the target in one of those games where he tries to win her a stuffed animal. Her stealing a bite of his cotton candy as he's holding it and innocently proclaiming she'd done nothing. Her clinging to his arm as they race down some ridiculously steep ride… Her holding Bethy, looking at his baby sister like she's the sweetest thing in the whole world. There's a pang of longing for all of that, for what could have been if things had gone just a touch differently.

But they hadn't. And that's okay. It's okay because Bethy sleeps soundly, resting against the curve of his bicep with a sense of comfort that he's so very grateful to provide. It's okay because Nate is humming and bouncing on his toes with bubbly excitement.

Will likes spending time with pretty, interesting, intelligent women. He likes it a lot. And Amelia… there's something different about her that he wishes he'd had the chance to explore. But his focus - now and always - is on his family and he's more than satisfied to be spending time with just Nate and Bethy. They need him and maybe… maybe he'd been right in the first place. Maybe his relationships with them are more important than they could ever be with a woman.

"Come on, Will!" Nate says with a growing sense of excitement, as the door to the elevator opens. "Let's get going!"

"Let's do it," Will agrees, following in his little brother's footsteps as he rushes out the door, leaving the office and everyone in it behind.


	22. February 2026

**Author's Note -** Just very quickly before we get to the story, two points. First, in this series, Ellie and Jules' (and eventually Nate's) preschool teacher has been named Susan since last Spring. She is not Susan Williams. She won't be in this series. Secondly, there is a brief reference to a character having (successfully) battled cancer in this chapter. It does not get into detail, but I know for some people that's a difficult read so I wanted to make sure to give a head's up.

* * *

 **February 2026**

Meetings running long aren't exactly unusual in Felicity Queen's line of work. As CEO of Queen Incorporated, someone always wants just a little more time, just a few more words. Her assistant normally keeps things running fairly smoothly. The older woman's curt-but-polite manner has managed to reroute things back on track so easily and so frequently that Felicity had started taking it for granted… which is a thing that had become very readily apparent today, because her assistant is on a much-needed vacation.

"Okay!" Felicity says loudly with a somewhat manic laugh as she wills the arms on the clock adorning the wall to _move slower please_. The dozen men and two women in the meeting - progress in the business world is nowhere near as progressive as she'd like - fall silent and look to her. "So, what I'm getting from all of this is that we are absolutely not reaching an agreement on procuring so much as a bagel platter, much less a branch of NanoTechWerx today, am I right? …'NanoTechWerx,' I honestly want to buy the entire company just to change the name. How much do you want for it?"

"Mrs. Queen, if you'll permit me, our company name was vetted by no less than four marketing studies where-" one of the men at the table speaks up.

"I know," she interrupts, holding up her hand with a sigh. "But it doesn't make helping my seven year old study for her spelling tests any easier. Between Kool Aid and Krispy Kreme it's a small miracle any of us can communicate without spell check anymore. But that's beside the point at the moment. Right now, the point is that it is a full two hours past when this meeting was supposed to end and my schedule isn't going to allow it to go much longer."

Her 'schedule' actually involves a getaway with her husband to a private guest house at a top-rated vineyard for Valentine's Day weekend. She's been looking forward to it for _months_. They're supposed to leave in just over an hour and she's absolutely not going to let a business deal of any kind get in the way of some much needed alone time with Oliver.

Felicity loves her children. She loves her job… _jobs_ , really - CEO, Team Arrow tech guru, Representative Queen's wife. But it all leaves them so very busy. She _needs_ this. She needs three whole days without Nate climbing into their bed, without campaign fundraising or business deals. She needs a clothing-optional weekend with her husband where they laugh over very good wine and make love on the kitchen counter at two in the afternoon just because they can.

God, her whole body is actually _humming_ with anticipation.

So… yes, this meeting needs to end. Immediately.

"I… guess we can reconvene on Monday," ventures one of the representatives from NanoTechWerx, looking uncertainly at his colleagues.

"Yeah, no," Felicity says, standing and gathering up her papers. "Tuesday. On Monday, I'm…" _licking chocolate off of my husband's washboard abs_ "out of the office. And, frankly, I think we could all use the extra day to dig a little deeper for ideas to close this deal."

The confused glances between everyone at the meeting tell Felicity that maybe she took things a shade too far. There's no lack of ideas on the table, quite the opposite really, but she's pretty much willing to say anything at all to get herself out of this meeting and on her way to a much anticipated sexy-times getaway with her husband.

"It's been a pleasure, but we're calling it," she says, grabbing her tablet and the papers someone from NanoTechWerx had handed out - honestly… they're a _tech_ firm using paper in this day and age? Felicity's embarrassed on their behalf. "Have a wonderful weekend and… Mitch, you can take point setting up Tuesday's meeting. Just contact my assistant Monday morning. Got it? Good."

If she's a bit terse, practically jogging out the room toward the elevator… oh well. She'll have what she needs from NanoTechWerx in hand by next week - name change notwithstanding - and everyone else in that room reports to her. They can write her off as quirky or eccentric. She doesn't care. What she _does_ care about is getting home to her husband, changing into something other than work clothes, grabbing their bags, kissing the kids goodbye and setting off for their glorious weekend alone.

 _Alone_.

She punches the ground floor button of the elevator hard enough and repeatedly enough that it's really a minor miracle she doesn't just break the damned thing. Most of her staff has thinned out for the evening and the lobby is all but empty, no one other than security in sight. The woman at the front desk nods at her as she passes briskly through the foyer and out the door, offering a quick smile in return. There's a fresh spring to her step and she's delighted to find that her car is waiting for her.

"Frank," she greets with a giddy grin. "You wonderful, wonderful man, it is lovely to see you. Let's get out of here."

"It is most lovely to see you as well, Mrs. Queen," he agrees, moving to open her door. "I should say I had been on the verge of growing concerned that every clock within the entirety of QI had malfunctioned."

"You're very cheeky, Frank," she tells him, sliding into the seat. "It's one of the things I like about you. Well… that and the A.R.G.U.S. training, but let's put the pedal to the metal and leave the chit chat for later, shall we?"

"Of course, ma'am," he says, dipping his head slightly before shutting her door and moving to take the driver's seat. He only continues a moment later, after pulling out into sparse early-evening traffic. "Mr. Queen made much the same request when he called half an hour ago."

Felicity pauses mid-shoe change - these heels are gorgeous but her toes hate them - looking up at Frank owlishly. "Oliver called?"

"He did at that," Frank tells her. "His meeting ran late as well. Something regarding _glad-handing_ union representatives."

Felicity groans. "That's about the campaign fundraising dinner next month. His campaign manager needs to take a metaphorical chill pill. Oliver can fill the seats. Has he left yet?"

"I received a text message from him ten minutes before you exited the building," Frank informs her. He says the words 'text message' as though they leave a sour taste in his mouth. "He stated he was leaving then. We should arrive at your home approximately fifteen minutes before him, given traffic conditions."

"Okay," Felicity breathes out, recalculating their agenda. "Okay, that's fine. I will get home and change. I can load up the car before he gets home and then spend a few minutes with the kids while he gets ready. We've lost a little time, but that's okay."

"Yes, I'm most certain that your vacation will be satisfactory in spite of beginning it an hour later than intended," Frank deadpans.

"I take it back, Frank," she tells him. "I've decided I dislike the cheekiness."

"I shall endeavor to live with your disappointment," he replies dryly.

Felicity just grins in reply and shakes her head, grabbing her phone and scrolling through her messages. There's a handful from her mom, reassurances that everything is fine with the kids that are heavily peppered with emojis. One from Thea telling her to have a good time and reminding her that she wouldn't mind another niece or nephew. Three from her assistant, who is _supposed_ to be on vacation. And then there are the messages from Oliver.

" _This is boring. I don't care about the colors of flower arrangements at this dinner. All I can think about is what color lingerie you're wearing_."

Red. It's red. Scarlet, correcting-in-pen red. His very favorite and it's new.

" _Now she wants to know what wine we should serve. Is 'Whatever I can drink out of my wife's belly button' an inappropriate answer or…?"_

Felicity bites her lip and whimpers as she reads that one. To Frank's everlasting credit, he pretends very convincingly not to hear her. There are a handful more texts from her husband, all with varying degrees of suggestiveness, but Felicity hones in on the belly-button-wine thing and she's typing out a response to him before she even stops to think it through.

" _Port_."

She gnaws on her lower lip as she stares at her phone. It takes a moment before those three little dots pop up, showing her husband typing out a response.

" _Port? For the wine?"_ comes through a moment later.

" _Yes. Definitely_ ," she responds right away. Her eyes shift to the rearview mirror, like she's expecting Frank to know exactly what's going through her mind. He's not looking her way, but he's _Frank_ so he probably does know precisely how dirty her thoughts are at the moment. ARGUS training either gave him crazy amounts of perception or possibly mind-reading capabilities. She's not wholly willing to rule either way, even if Oliver had laughed and told her Waller couldn't read minds when she'd brought it up to him. But… whatever. She's desperately looking forward to a sex-filled weekend getaway with her husband and she can't actually bring herself to care who knows.

Her phone chirps in her hand and she looks down to find " _Any particular reason, or just think I need something sweet?_ " staring back up at her.

Oh… she has a reason all right.

" _Because you can do that to me on round two tonight after I've already licked chocolate off your stomach and ridden you for twenty minutes or so. Maybe some of the chocolate will have rubbed off. It goes so well with port_."

That little typing symbol appears a couple of times in the next few moments and she has the growing sense that he keeps drafting and deleting whatever it is he wants to say. What finally comes through slips a shiver of anticipation straight down her spine, though.

" _Tell Frank to drive faster._ "

It's simple, but she can practically hear Oliver's voice in her ear as she reads the words, all low and hungry. She replies with a kissing emoji and a short " _see you soon_ " before slipping her phone back into her purse. It's entirely unintentional when she shifts about in her seat, pressing her knees together in a subconscious effort to find some kind of relief because _god_ is her head in overdrive right now, but it absolutely does her no favors. Just the suggestion of the weekend ahead, just the imagined sound of his voice in her ear has her whole body buzzing and she needs to be having her way with her husband immediately, please. Now. Right now.

"How much longer?" she calls out to Frank. There's no missing the utter frustration in her voice.

"Astoundingly, the drive from your work to your home takes very nearly exactly the same amount of time as it has for the past decade or so," he responds in his patently dry tone.

"Frank, we just talked about your sass," she points out.

"Then I suppose you ought to have anticipated such a response, shouldn't you?" he asks, taking a turn onto the main road that borders the outskirts of their neighborhood.

Five minutes. Five more minutes and she'll be home. Not that _Oliver_ will be yet. Even given proper motivation, he's probably still at least ten minutes behind her. But, whatever, she's made it through a day-long, mind-numbing meeting. She can make it another fifteen minutes.

Probably.

She spends the rest of the drive flipping through photos on her phone from Jules' dance recital last weekend. It's a great distraction and an even better memory. Her older daughter's creative nature astounds her. The closest thing to artistic Felicity herself has ever managed is a particularly elegant line of code. It had felt like art to her at the time, anyhow. But Jules… she's worlds apart from that, so expressive it takes Felicity's breath away. For a girl who prefers to hold her tongue rather than say what she's feeling, Jules works a tremendous amount of emotion into her dance as well as her painting and, as her mother, it's an absolute joy to watch.

A pang of longing hits her when she gets to a shot of all four of the kids together after the recital. Seventeen-year-old Will is holding Nate in one arm while wrapping the other around his sisters. Ellie's wearing an ear-to-ear smile while Jules holds onto the roses Oliver had brought, her cheeks flushed with happiness and a shy smile gracing her lips as she stares into the camera. There is no doubt that Felicity and Oliver need this little weekend getaway - especially campaign season ramping up soon - but she's going to miss these kids so very fiercely for the next few days.

Making a sudden decision, Felicity drafts a quick email to her assistant to make sure that she's out of the office by 2:30 on Tuesday. The meeting can be in the morning. She wants to spend time with the kids after they're home from school, maybe take all three out for a really good hot cocoa or something.

By the time she's sent the e-mail away to her assistant, Felicity finds the car has rolled to a stop in her driveway and Frank is already getting out to open her door.

 _Thank goodness_.

"Will you be needing me for the drive to your love nest, ma'am?" Frank asks as she steps out of the car. And… damn it, even no longer wearing heels, she sort of trips at the question.

"Oliver's driving us," she informs him. Probably more accurately, Oliver will sit in the driver's seat and hit the 'self drive' feature while he absolutely does not keep his hands on the wheel, but Frank doesn't need to hear that said aloud.

"I am awash in a tsunami of relief," Frank tells her, as straight-faced as she's ever seen anyone.

"Honestly?" she asks, leaning in conspiratorially with a tremendous grin on her face. "I can't even blame you. Have a nice weekend, Frank."

"Not as nice as your's, ma'am," he returns with a thin smile before heading back to the driver's seat.

Felicity doesn't even bother to hide her laugh as she turns away and hurries into the house, taking the front steps two at a time.

Their home is very rarely quiet and that's no different today. The raucous giggle of her little boy rings out from the kitchen and somewhere upstairs she can hear the thump of classic rock music that tells her Jules is in her room, probably painting.

"Hey!" she calls out, tossing her keys onto a side table near the front door. "I'm home."

" _Momma!_ " Nate barrels out of the kitchen as fast as his feet can carry him, not slowing down in the least until he's plastered against her leg. The three-and-a-half year old stares up at her like she hung the moon. "I missed you!"

Oh… this weekend is not going to be easy on her little boy.

"I was barely gone, little man," she says, leaning down and scooping him up in her arms. Her mom leans against the doorway to the kitchen with a satisfied, cloudy kind of look in her eyes. She's the same as ever, bubbly and effervescent, but ever since her battle with cancer when Nate was an infant, she's prone to moments like this, times where she just stops and soaks it all in, where she savors the bits of life she could have so easily missed.

"He's gonna miss you something fierce, baby," she says, pushing off of the doorway and heading over to stroke the back of the little boy's hair. " _Somebody_ is a bit of a momma's boy, isn't he?"

"I'm momma's _good_ boy," he insists, leaning his cheek against Felicity's collar and nestling in.

"You are," Donna smiles brightly at him. "But this weekend you get to be Grandma Donna's good boy, okay? We are going to have so much fun together. Just you and me and your sisters."

Nate looks extremely skeptical of this plan, his brow furrowing and eyes narrowing in suspicion. "If Momma's there too, it'd be more funner. Momma should play, too."

"I'll tell you what," she offers, bouncing Nate slightly. "Monday night when I get home, you can sleep with me and Daddy. And then Tuesday you can go to work with me and play with Miss Susan in daycare. I'll leave just as soon as my meeting is over and you and I will spend the whole rest of the day together, okay?"

Indecision wars across her little boy's face. The invitation to climb into his parents' bed is no doubt tempting - he'd do it nightly if he could; but as lovely as their cocoon is, neither Felicity nor Oliver is willing to allow it to be a nightly event - but he's also well aware that accepting this deal means he's not getting what he wants _now_. That's an awfully hard trade off for such a little guy.

"Is Monday the day after yesterday?" he asks warily.

Felicity bites back a smile. Time's a rough concept at this age. "Baby, the day after yesterday would be today. You're thinking of the day after tomorrow. And no, it's the day after that."

"That's forever and ever," Nate whines.

"I know, I know," she soothes as tears well up in his eyes. "But I'll bring you back a treat and you'll have Grandma Donna with you the whole time."

The waterworks let up the instant the word 'treat' leaves her lips. He's so predictable sometimes. The way to her little boy's heart is absolutely his sweet tooth.

"What kind of treat?" he asks.

"I was thinking the chocolate kind," she offers, smiling at him as his eyes light up.

"The _big_ chocolate kind?" he bargains, holding his hands as far apart as they'll reach. "Like _this_ big?"

"What would you do with a chocolate that big?" she asks, shaking her head at him.

"...Eat it?" he questions, looking at her like she's crazy for not already reaching this conclusion.

"You'd give yourself a tummy ache," she tells him, poking his belly so that he squirms.

"Nuh uh," he protests through a giggle.

"Uh huh," she counters. "How about instead I get you the very biggest chocolate bar they sell at the store, okay? They don't even usually make them the size of your arms. I think."

"That's a mistake," he tells her, with painful seriousness.

Donna makes grabby hands for her grandson. The little boy pauses just a moment before reaching back. He's always hesitant to leave his mom. "Maybe when you grow up, you can run your own chocolate shop!" his grandmother suggests as he plays with the end of her pixie haircut. It's grown so slowly since she finished her chemotherapy. "You can make the chocolate bars as big as you want, then."

"Momma, does QI make chocolate?" he asks, looking back at her.

"Well… not yet, but I won't be surprised if you diversify us one day," she replies. Obviously, he has no clue what 'diversify' means but he nods along like he's plotting his one-day chocolate company acquisition and it's painfully cute. "The girls upstairs?" she asks her mom, nodding her head upward. The floor of Jules' bedroom practically thumps with the beat of her music.

"Mmhm," Donna agrees, rubbing Nate's back gently. The little boy melts at the affection, leaning into his grandmother with an increasing levels of relaxation. He's so very tactile. "Jules is painting and Ellie said she wanted to rest for a bit."

"With _this_ racket?" Felicity asks in surprise, glancing at her watch. "It's barely after six."

"I guess jump rope club wore her out after school," Donna shrugs. "She looked like she could use to lie down for a bit, but she said Jules' music wouldn't bother her."

That part is probably true. Between Nate's cries and Jules' music, Ellie's learned to sleep through a lot over the years and the noise isn't liable to pose much of a problem. But, _still_ …

"Okay, thanks, Mom," Felicity says, leaning in and kissing her mother's cheek.

"Are you and Oliver going to join us for dinner before you head out?" she asks. "I know you're getting a later start than you wanted."

Felicity freezes. "You cooked?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Donna replies, tsking at her. "I ordered from that Indian place up the street."

Oh… oh but that sounds good. They never had agreed on that bagel platter at the meeting and it suddenly strikes her that she's actually pretty hungry. "Did you get the rogan josh?"

"Of course," her mom scoffs, waving off the question like the answer is obvious. "Butter chicken for the kids. There's plenty for everyone."

Man, that's tempting. Not as tempting as Oliver-with-chocolate, but she must be in need of food more than she'd realized, because it's awfully close. "I'll ask Oliver when he gets home. He should be here soon. So, I… will go check on the girls and get changed." She pets the side of Nate's head for a moment and he sighs happily. "Stay with grandma, Nater-Tater. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Kay," he agrees, curling into his grandmother more and sucking on his thumb as she rocks him gently, humming to herself. Donna's always had a soft spot for babies and Felicity knows without a doubt that she feels like she missed a lot of Nate's babyhood because of her illness. So, it's not surprising to see her coddling him a bit now.

With one last brush of her fingers against her little boy's chubby cheek, Felicity turns and heads toward the stairs. The music from Jules' room dulls some in the stairwell, but the base seems to resonate louder, thudding through the home's old walls. Felicity pauses the moment she hits the landing and quirks her head to the side, soaking in the beat.

Is that _God Save The Queen_?

Is her eleven-year-old blasting Sex Pistols?

Where had she even… Roy. It had to be Roy, Felicity realizes, making her way toward her older daughter's room. She had hung out with her uncle last week, the pair going to an actual music resale shop - something Felicity had not been previously aware still existed in 2026 - while Thea went through a check-up following her most recent round of treatments. It's so routine for her sister- and brother-in-law at this point that Thea often tries to get her husband to find something else to occupy his time other than sitting in the waiting room while they run CAT scans and MRIs and blood work on her. Jules is usually happy to provide a distraction for her uncle.

Felicity raps on the door as loudly as she can, but if Jules responds, it's lost to the cacophony of music. She tries again with the same lack of response before cracking open the door, still knocking as she peeks in.

Jules definitely hadn't heard her, though. The eleven-year-old is positively rocking out to her music as she paints, her dark hair flying about with bits of drying paint coloring it in splotches. It's all red and black and white and so, for that matter, is Jules' bedroom floor. Splatters of color, both new and old are scattered all about. Felicity gave up a year or two ago on keeping Jules' carpet paint-free and switched the flooring out for easily replaceable wood tiles instead. Jules had been pretty happy with the change because it meant she could do _this_ \- paint with complete abandon, create without regard to her surroundings. And, wow is she taking advantage of that at the moment.

She's more or less dancing in front of her canvas, using her brush in long, bold swaths. She's in an abstract mood, apparently, because it doesn't look like anything to Felicity. At least, it doesn't look like any kind of item or setting. It looks like emotion, if she had to put a word to it, loud and uneven with colors competing for space. But she might be off-base. It's not like she's ever known a thing about art.

There's a barely discernable squeak when Jules turns and spots her. The girl is startled enough that she jumps and the paintbrush in her hand accidentally hits her in the face, leaving a streak of white across her jawline. She obviously doesn't care about that, though, because she laughs as she puts a hand to her heart like she's trying to calm herself.

Her dog, Buster, barely raises his head from where he's napping just behind the easel, completely unconcerned as long as his girl is safe and happy right in front of him… even if there's a splotch of red paint covering one of his ears.

"Can you turn it down?" Felicity shouts as she steps fully into the room. If Jules can actually hear her, it'd be something of a miracle, but the pre-teen nods and grabs a remote, clicking the music down to half-volume before hitting pause.

"Sorry," she says, wincing sheepishly as she shrugs one shoulder and rests a hand on her hip. Her cheeks are bright pink and it's not from the paint. It's awfully damned adorable. "I guess I had it a bit loud."

"It's okay," Felicity tells her. "I'm sure the ringing noise will go away eventually."

Jules rolls her eyes at that and rinses off her paintbrush quickly before putting it down and turning to fully face her mom. "What time is it?" she asks, glancing toward the window. It's nearly entirely dark out at this point. "Weren't you and dad supposed to be home a while ago?"

"Yeah," Felicity sighs. "We both got caught up in work."

"Bummer," Jules replies with a nod, but it's obviously something she doesn't get. That's totally fine. She'll relate a whole lot more when she's older. For now, she's just a kid. It's a _good_ thing that the frustration of hours-long meetings where nothing gets accomplished doesn't have any meaning to her. "You're still going, though. Right?"

"That's the plan," Felicity confirms. "Your dad's not home yet. We might have a bite to eat with you guys before we go. It's getting late."

"Cool," Jules nods. She's all nonchalance, her hip jutting out to the side as she sighs and tosses her hair behind her shoulder. Jules tries so hard to be older than she is, sometimes. She's eleven going on eighteen, equal parts little girl and young woman. She's four years away from driving, seven from college, and just months away from middle school.

In part, that makes Felicity panic. Because how is her little girl this big? How is it that she needs a bra and wants to wear makeup and be dropped off at the mall with friends? It seems impossible. But Felicity also has a tremendous confidence in her oldest. Jules has such a strong sense of self, such a solid grip on who she is. And, she is so very independent. In spite of the problems they've faced together with her insecurities about being wanted and her place in their family, Jules has grown into a clever, beautiful, confident girl. There's a vulnerability beneath all of that, a soft, affectionate and fiercely devoted core to her being. Felicity only sees that in glimpses, but when she does, when Jules lets herself be open… it's breathtaking. Mostly, though, she's just grateful to have a front seat to watch her daughter continue to blossom, to grow into an incredible young woman.

She's going to do amazing things some day, her little Julie-bug. She just knows it.

"I like your painting," Felicity tells her daughter, nodding toward the mostly-paint-covered canvas.

"Thanks!" Jules says, looking back at it. "I think it's almost done. I'm doing it for Uncle Roy for his birthday. Think he'll like it?" She turns as she asks the question and, even though she tries to mask it, Felicity can see the nervousness around the edges of her eyes. Putting herself out there, looking for approval, isn't easy for Jules. It never has been. She's fantastic at creating things, seems like she's in a world all her own when she's dancing or painting. But, after the fact, when she faces an audience, that's when she gets anxious.

"I think he'll _love_ it," Felicity tells her. Jules beams, a tight-lipped but clearly pleased smile. "Is that why you were listening to the music he got you?"

"Yeah!" Jules agrees. Her eyes light up with excitement that her mother got it. "It's the album, just on a canvas, you know? ...You could tell?"

"I could," Felicity agrees, mentally patting herself on the back for getting it right.

"Grandma couldn't," Jules tells her, rolling her eyes. "She said it needed more pink."

"Your grandmother thinks Pepto Bismol needs more pink," Felicity replies. "Don't worry about it. I think it's awesome the way it is and so will Uncle Roy. This is way more his style."

"Yeah," Jules agrees, looking back at the canvas. She chews on her lower lip as she stares at her work. There's absolutely no missing the pride written across her face. And, for a moment, Felicity is content just to watch the girl in silence.

Jules nods at the painting like she's deemed it meets her satisfaction before turning back to her mom. "So, where are you guys going again?"

"A little winery about two hours outside of town," Felicity replies. If there's a bit of longing in her voice, she can't help it.

"You're gonna… drink wine for three days?" Jules asks, raising an eyebrow as her face twists in disbelief.

"No," Felicity tells her, laughing slightly as she tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "We're going to tour the vineyards and… see how they make wine and enjoy the scenery and relax…"

 _And have sex… lots of sex…_ But she's not saying this to her daughter.

"Mom… I think you need to learn how to take a vacation," Jules tells her with clear distaste. Her nose is scrunched up like she smells something foul as she shakes her head.

Felicity smothers a laugh. "Well… let's get election season over with and maybe we'll take a family vacation all together."

"Really?" Jules asks, perking up. "Nate's never seen Hawai'i. Can we go back for Christmas? Can we bring Will?"

Her first request is doable. Her second is a bit of a stretch. Family vacations never feel right without her stepson, but Felicity's pretty sure there's no way Samantha is going to part with her son for a week at Christmastime. But… maybe for Hanukkah? It's early this year, if she remembers correctly.

"I'll talk to your dad about it this weekend," Felicity promises.

" _Yes_ ," Jules declares with a triumphant little dance. She only stops when Felicity laughs outright at the sight, grinning widely at the sight of her delighted preteen.

"Thanks, Mom," Jules tells her, diving in for a quick hug. Felicity can't even care that she undoubtedly has paint on her dress. Open affection initiated by Jules isn't exactly a daily occurrence and Felicity knows to savor these moments when they happen. She holds on tightly, relishing the feeling of her daughter in her arms and pressing a kiss into her dark, paint-stained hair. But, as much as she'd like to keep holding on, she lets go the instant Jules starts to back off.

But the girl doesn't go far, just easing back a step and looking a little bashful at her show of emotion.

"You're welcome," Felicity tells her. She can't resist brushing some of the girl's hair behind her ear. It's unnecessary, really, but she craves that little bit of contact too much to deny it and Jules seems to accept it readily. "Will's my son, too. Even if he's not _my son_ , he's still my son. You know what I mean. Family trips aren't the same without him."

"He'll be eighteen anyhow," Jules points out. The reality of that makes Felicity's eye twitch. And she'd thought _Jules_ was getting old. How is that sweet little boy who'd been so shy about accepting a glove and ball from his dad turning eighteen? "He won't need Samantha's permission anymore."

In truth, Will's been distancing himself more and more from his mother since he was sixteen. Some of that is just the realities of growing up, but a bigger part is his mom's marriage. Will hasn't taken to the adjustments in his family life easily. Samantha wanting them to change their last name to David's after the wedding had been the last straw for Will, who'd openly refused and declared his intent to take his father's last name. He'd shown up on their doorstep more than once these last two years after fighting with his mom. To call it a stressful situation would be an understatement, but they're managing and WIll is well aware that he's always welcome at either of his homes.

"Permission is one thing," Felicity tells her daughter slowly. "Consideration is another. Eighteen or not, she's still his mom. I expect _you_ to come home for Hanukkah when you're eighteen, you know."

"Maybe for the last night of it, anyhow," Jules allows. "If I'm not away at college and still in class."

Well, there's a thought. She has no idea when Will's semester will be over. But, at least he's going to Starling City University. That makes things a bit easier.

"I can't handle thinking about you and college right now," Felicity tells her daughter. "You're in elementary school."

"For like… four more months," Jules laughs.

"Oh, stop it," Felicity tells her, rubbing at the worry line that's quickly developing between her eyes. "You're making me feel old."

"I mean… if the shoe fits…" Jules grins smugly with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Are you saying I have old lady shoes?" Felicity asks, eyebrows shooting up.

Jules stares down at her mother's feet for a moment before looking her in the face with grim disbelief. And… okay, so maybe her footwear is a bit more practical these days. Chasing after Nate in Louboutin tends to lead to red scuff marks across her wood floor and a twisted ankle. But she'd worn cute shoes to work, damn it!

"They're not exactly runway ready, Mom," Jules tells her dryly. She's clearly been hanging out with her Aunt Thea.

"Harsh," Felicity replies. She's not actually insulted, though, and Jules knows it.

"I tell it like it is," Jules advises in a confidential tone.

"Yeah, that might be genetic," Felicity admits. It's not like either she or Thea are known for holding their tongue. "Speaking of family… is your sister really taking a nap?"

"That's what she said," Jules agrees. "I haven't seen her since we got home."

"Hm… okay," Felicity agrees. "I'm gonna go check on her. You might want to clean up. I think Grandma is serving dinner soon."

"Good! I'm starved," Jules agrees, heading back over to her easel to close up her paints. "See ya down there!"

As if on cue, Felicity's stomach rumbles. Yeah, they're definitely staying for dinner at this point. "You've got it," she agrees before heading out the door toward Ellie's room.

Ellie and Jules' rooms are almost directly across from each other, but it's immediately obvious the younger girl isn't in her room. In all likelihood, Jules' music had driven her out. The girl can sleep through anything, but _falling_ asleep is another story and it really had been absurdly noisy.

Felicity wanders up the stairs to the third flood, checking Will's room, Nate's room, and the guest room, and finding no one. But, she does hear a telltale squeak from the top floor which tells her two things. First of all, Ellie's tossing about in her bed. Second of all, she needs to tighten the hinges in her bed or there's likely to be a super embarrassing moment one of these days.

Abandoning the third floor, Felicity heads upstairs to her room, but the sight that greets her is a lot more heartbreaking than she expects.

Ellie's in the middle of her parents' bed, shivering under the thick blanket as she sniffles, her little body curling in on itself as she barks out a rattling cough. Her giant pumpkin cat is curled up atop her feet, glaring judgmentally at Felicity in the doorway.

 _You should have known,_ the cat is telling her. _Fix this_.

Nothing like being blamed by a vicious little beast named Mr. Bubbles.

But Ellie's cat is far from the most important thing right now. "Momma," Ellie whimpers. She goes to reach a hand out toward her mother, but another cough hits and her arm drops to cover her mouth instead.

"Oh, baby girl," Felicity sighs, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed to rub a hand across Ellie's back. "Ellie-bug, why didn't you tell Grandma that you weren't feeling well?"

"Jus' wanna sleep," Ellie replies with a desperate little sob. "But I can't sleep 'cause I keep coughing."

Her eyes are all glassy and her nose bright red. The poor girl looks miserable and Felicity's heart just breaks for her. She rubs her daughter's back through another coughing fit before pressing her inner wrist to Ellie's forehead and sighing tremendously. "Well, you've definitely got a fever."

"Don't wanna be sick," Ellie bemoans. "S'posed to play with Sara tomorrow."

"I'm pretty sure we've all just had a change in plans," Felicity replies, her heart sinking as she speaks. But it's true. The vineyard with its guest house and jetted hot tub and all the vacation sex will be there later. Vacation or not, she can't leave when one of her kids is sick. She won't. "Let me get you some cough syrup and a little juice, okay? I'll be right back."

"The cherry kind?" Ellie asks, staring up at her with a sickly, dull-eyed gaze. As if the flavor mattered…

"I think so," Felicity agrees, leaning down to kiss Ellie's temple as she rubs a soothing circular pattern against the little girl's back. "I'll see what we have and be back in a jiffy."

"'Kay," Ellie agrees as Felicity stands. The sick little girl reaches down and grabs her cat, pulling it up to cuddle like a stuffed animal. The beast is all too happy to comply, but it continues to glare at Felicity the entire time. Mr. Bubbles gives her the creeps, but the ridiculously named cat does absolutely adore Ellie, so Felicity puts up with her.

Felicity grabs a box of tissues and puts them next to Ellie before she heads down one floor to the walk-in linen closet that she also uses as a well-stocked medicine cabinet. Given the realities of their lives, there's a whole lot more on hand than Advil and she's just gotten through unlocking the child safety mechanisms when a pair of hands on her hips startles her.

"Hey," her husband's voice rumbles with a chuckle as he presses his lips to her neck and pulls her back against him. She jolts before melting a bit, his presence drawing her in as always. "Have I told you lately-" He pauses to kiss just behind her ear. It's wet and hot, his breath cresting along the shell of her ear and sending a riot of shivers through her body. "...how much I love your mind?"

"Mmm," she hums, pressing her body back against him as his scruff trails down the length of her neck until he's kissing her shoulder. "Doesn't seem like it's my mind you're appreciating at the moment."

One of his hands slides across her pelvis, pulling her backside snugly against him. The needy little noise in the back of his throat is a half groan and half a whimper. It's her favorite sound in the whole world.

"I'm excellent at multitasking," he tells her, exhaling a shuddering breath across her collarbone. "For instance, I can drive while tracking down the best chocolate in town."

"Wha… What?" she asks. For all his love of her mind, it's not exactly running at full capacity at the moment. After all, how could it with the way he keeps pausing to lightly suck at the skin of her shoulder.

"You have the _best_ ideas," he replies.

Oh… _OH_ … the abs thing. Oh, she'd had _such_ plans.

She turns in his arms, which is no easy feat considering he's not about to back off at all and she isn't really keen on distance at the moment either. There's a bag next to his feet from her favorite chocolate shop. Her mouth honestly waters just at the sight of it. Though, whether that's at the idea of the sweet treats inside or the way she _knows_ it tastes when it melts on her husband's stomach is definitely up for debate.

"Hi," he tells her again once they're face-to-face. And, oh but he's full of boyish glee. It's so damned charming that she sort of thinks it has to be illegal. But, whatever. She's always been a bit dubious about being law-abiding anyhow.

"Hey," she tells him, reaching a hand up to touch the side of his face. Her other hand, however, holds a bottle of kids' cough syrup. It takes him a moment to register that fact, which isn't too surprising considering his hands are firmly gripping her ass and his mind is absolutely a few hours away in a beautiful little guest house they definitely won't be seeing this weekend.

"What's…" he starts, his voice trailing off as he spots the bottle of practically neon red syrup in her hand.

"I'm really sorry," she says with a sigh. "Ellie's sick."

"She's okay, though?" he asks, concern draping over his face immediately.

"Fever, chills, cough, stuffy nose," Felicity sums up. "Probably a bad cold or maybe the flu."

"Does she need to get to a doctor?" he asks. He's all 'dad mode' on a dime, worried and wanting to make his little girl better. It's sort of contrasted by the fact that his hands are still on her butt, though.

"I don't think so," Felicity tells him. "It would be emergency care this late on a Friday anyhow. We'll push fluids, set up the humidifier and keep an eye on her fever. She'll probably be fine on her own in a few days."

"But we have to stay," Oliver realizes, his shoulders drooping as he looks down to the bag at his feet.

"Yeah," Felicity agrees. "We have to stay. I can't leave her when she's sick and neither could you."

"I know," he agrees. "I'd be a mess the whole time if we did get out the door. I just…" He breaks off with a sigh. She gets it. She'd really been looking forward to this weekend, too.

"There'll be other weekends," she points out. "And just as soon as she's out of our bed - and I change the sheets, because germs - I will absolutely be trying that chocolate with you."

He gives a half smile at that. "Looking forward to it. I'll break out the good port."

"You'd better, mister," Felicity replies, poking his chest with one finger. "Having chocolate that good with mediocre port would be a sin."

"If we're sinning already, I have better things in mind," Oliver grins. He releases her and takes a step back, his hands clenched tightly like he's fighting to keep them to himself. "She's in our bed?"

"Yeah," Felicity agrees. "Why don't you go see her? I'll grab a dosing cup and be up in a second."

"Okay," he agrees, grabbing her free hand and kissing her fingers gently before turning to head upstairs to their room. She watches him go, peeking her head out the open linen closet door, sighing at the sight as he jogs up the stairs with a bag of chocolate in hand. It's a damned fine view. His dress slacks are tailored incredibly well.

It only takes a moment to find the proper dosing cup for the cough syrup and then she's following in her husband's path up the stairs. She can hear Ellie's cough before she's even halfway up, but it's the sight that greets her once she gets to her room that really hits her.

Poor Ellie is obviously miserable, but she's tucked herself into her father's arms. At seven-and-a-half, she might be a bit big to be cocooned, but that's absolutely what's happening anyhow. Oliver's wrapped around her completely, running his hand up and down her arm as she whimpers and rubs her drippy nose against his sleeve. He doesn't care in the least about that, though. He just keeps talking to her in a low, soothing voice that Felicity can't quite hear the words of until his eyes meet hers.

"See? Mommy's here with 'll feel so much better soon," he promises.

"It's the cherry kind?" Ellie asks warily. She doesn't sit up at all, instead wrapping her arms around one of her father's to secure him close to her.

As if there was a chance of him leaving.

"Cherry-flavored as ordered," Felicity agrees, crossing over to her husband and daughter, perching on the side of the bed before uncapping the medicine and pouring Ellie's dose. "You're going to have to sit up to drink it though," she advises.

Oliver scoots up to sitting and pulls Ellie onto his lap. She's like a ragdoll, limp and exhausted. It feels like an arrow to the heart, seeing her like this, watching the normally bubbly girl completely drained of her usual joy and energy.

"Come on," Felicity urges, handing her the medicine cup. "One gulp and it'll be done. And when it kicks in, I bet you'll sleep."

It's the promise of sleep that does it. Ellie takes the medicine and downs it in one gulp with a shudder before handing the plastic cup back to her mom. At the foot of the bed, Mr. Bubbles grumbles her displeasure. _Why_ the cat always hones in on Felicity, she has no idea, but it does. It's glaring. Cats glare. It's a thing they do. If they're Mr. Bubbles, anyhow.

"I'll go grab you some juice," Felicity announces, moving to stand. But Ellie's hand shoots out with surprising speed, grabbing her wrist.

"No, Momma," Ellie insists. Between the tone and the way the stuffy nose is messing with her pronunciation, she sounds all of two-years-old again and it makes Felicity's heart ache. "I… I just want a mommy-cuddle."

Surprise must show on Felicity's face - Ellie usually turns to her father - because Ellie looks nervous all of a sudden, casting a quick glance at her dad. "I just want my mommy." It comes out in a sob of emotion. Being sick is clearly messing with her, because Ellie is _not_ usually clingy or prone to tears and it absolutely hits every maternal instinct Felicity has because she wants nothing more than to hold her daughter.

"I'm right here, Ellie-bug," she promises, settling onto the bed and taking Ellie from Oliver's arms. The little girl breathes out a shuddering sob of relief against the crook of her neck. Felicity's shoulder is wet with Ellie's tears, but the only reason she cares about that in the least is that it's likely to make the poor girl's nose more stuffed up. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you, baby girl."

"Not gonna leave?" Ellie mutters out against her skin. She shivers, but her skin is warm to the touch, so Felicity draws a blanket around them both.

"Nothing in the world could make me leave you right now, Ellie-bug," she promises. "Nothing at all."

"Me either," Oliver chimes in. His hand cups the entire back of Ellie's head as his thumb strokes through her loose blonde curls.

"Oh," Ellie says, looking back at her dad. "But… you could maybe go far enough to get me juice?" she suggests.

Oliver laughs at that, taking in the hopeful look on her face. "I won't even water it down," he vows.

"I'm seven," Ellie reminds him. "I can handle my sugar now, Daddy."

"Sure you can," he chuckles, kissing her forehead before scooting off the bed. "I'll be right back with some juice after I let your Grandma Donna know what's going on. Did you two need anything else?"

"Mind grabbing me a plate of rogan josh and a glass of water?" Felicity asks. "And maybe some soup and crackers for Ellie, if she feels up to it."

"Maybe a _little_ ," Ellie allows. "If we have the good kind."

"She means the club crackers," Felicity clarifies as Ellie nods and wriggles herself closer. "Not the low sodium or low fat ones. She won't eat those."

"Got it," Oliver confirms, leaning in to kiss his wife briefly over their daughter's head. "Text me if you think of anything else."

She smiles and nods, but her focus returns wholly to Ellie. The medicine hasn't kicked in yet, but she's relaxed more and that seems to have made a slight difference. Just being held by her mother is helping, if only a little bit.

Felicity starts humming something as she rocks Ellie gently. She's not entirely sure what the song is at first, just a tune that comes to mind. But after a moment, she realizes it's _Sweet Baby James_. An old song, now. Hell, it had been old when _she_ was born, but she remembers her mother's James Taylor records from her childhood. And, when she'd been at a loss for nursery songs after Jules was born, she'd found herself singing that in an attempt to calm her baby's cries. It had carried through with Ellie and then with Nate. But she hasn't sung it in more than a year now. Even Nate is too old for lullabies.

But the old song does the trick as well now as it had when her babies had been swaddled and rocked to soothe their wails. Ellie relaxes bonelessly against her, some part of her attuned to the role that song has played her whole life long.

"I don't like being sick," Ellie bemoans a moment later when the tune reaches its natural end. A cough hits her a moment later and she tenses up as it wracks her body.

"I don't like you being sick either," Felicity tells her, rubbing her tense back muscles. The poor girl is definitely going to be sore from all this coughing.

But the look Ellie gives her isn't one of aches and pains; it's one of pure guilt. And that throws Felicity a bit because she hadn't expected it in the least.

"I'm really sorry," Ellie tells her.

"For what?" Felicity asks, searching her face.

"For ruining your weekend," Ellie says. Her eyes are watery again and her nose is painfully red.

"You didn't ruin anything," Felicity tells her. "Not a bit of this is your fault, Ellie-bug."

"But it's Valentine's Day!" Ellie protests with a wail. "That's a special holiday. You're supposed to spend it with the person you love the very most."

"Oh, Ellie," Felicity sighs, pulling her in for a tighter hug and rocking her slightly again. "There will be plenty of other times your dad and I can take a weekend away to ourselves. But I already am with the people I love most. I have you and Daddy and Jules and Nate and, when he undoubtedly sneaks over later this weekend - because we both know he will - I'll have Will, too. I love all of you so much and nobody is someone I love 'most.' Love's not the kind of thing you can measure. It doesn't work that way."

"Good," Ellie says with tremendous relief. "'Cause Jules said that I loved Daddy most and that got me really upset because I thought she meant I didn't love you enough. But, I do! I promise!"

"I have never once doubted that, Ellie-bug," Felicity promises her, stroking Ellie's cheek. "Not _once_. You and Daddy have a special relationship, just like you and I do. It doesn't have to be the same. It _shouldn't_ even be the same. That's part of what makes it so special. Understand?"

"Yeah," Ellie agrees. "Cause I _do_ love you loads, Momma."

"I love you loads, too," Felicity assures her with a smile. "Is that why you wanted me instead of Daddy? You were worried about this?"

"No," Ellie says with a sigh, tucking her legs up underneath herself on Felicity's lap. The cat makes a grumble of displeasure and Felicity can't resist the urge to stick her tongue out at the furry beast. Take _that_ , Mr. Bubbles. You've been replaced. "I just wanted my mommy."

"Well," Felicity says, watching as the girl's eyes droop shut. She's just moments away from sleep. "You're in luck, Ellie-bug, because you've got me."


	23. July 2035 Part One

**July 2035**

"Are you sure this is okay?"

The tiny blonde in front of Will nervously smooths down her ice blue dress for the third time since he picked her up. It's silly because she looks amazing. She always does. He'd be a liar if he said that wasn't the first thing that drew him to her, back when they started seeing each other in April. He's since found out that she's fun and feisty, too, which is why they've lasted as long as they have. He genuinely likes Lillie as a person. But at first… yeah it was totally that she's utterly gorgeous in an effortless way.

"You look incredible and so does that dress," he promises her, taking her hand and pulling her off to the side. They're a few steps away from the banquet hall his aunt rented for the evening. There's a stream of Starling City's most absurdly well-to-do making their way inside, drawing a crowd the way only a lavish charity event can. He gets why Lillie's nervous. This isn't her scene at all. Hell, it's not really his either, but he's had a lot more experience with this kind of thing than she does. He's pretty sure he knows how to soothe her nerves, though. "It'll look better on my floor later," he tells her, leaning in and whispering the words right against the shell of her ear as he curls a free hand around the edge of her hip.

"Will…" she says as she blushes and glances toward the well-dressed crowd that definitely couldn't hear him.

"I'm looking forward to peeling it off of you," he continues, releasing her hip to stroke a finger down the side of her neck, relishing the goosebumps that rise up beneath his touch.

"You are so much trouble," she tells him, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. The way her pupils near-eclipse her dark brown eyes speaks volumes about how effective his method of calming her down is… though maybe 'calm' isn't quite the right word.

"That's what you like best about me," he reminds her, leaning in to leave a lingering kiss against her lips. She sighs contentedly when they part, her entire body language more relaxed than before, and that feels a bit like a victory. He really likes Lillie. He's not in _love_ with her or anything, but he does kind of love the effect he can have on her. That part of their relationship is addictive.

"You're _sure_ your aunt meant it?" she asks one more time, looking up at him for confirmation.

"Lil, you don't know my Aunt Thea, but believe me… when she says something she always means it," Will promises, intertwining his fingers with hers and tugging slightly as they begin their way toward the door.

In truth, he kind of wishes they hadn't run into his aunt last week. But they had, and the damage had been immediate. For all her undoubtedly good intentions, Will's absolutely certain that his aunt thinks his relationship with Lillie is a whole lot more than it is. Her eyes had lit up with mischief once she'd realized he was on a date and she'd suggested to him - right in front of Lillie - that he bring her to the 10th Annual Queen Family Foundation Fundraiser. In spite of the fact that he hasn't introduced any woman he's seen in the last five years to his family, he'd sort of had to follow through after that.

"And _you_ really don't mind?" Lillie clarifies. That stops him in his tracks. He looks back at her concerned face and it strikes him again that he really does like this woman. And he's not about to confess he'd much prefer keeping their time together behind closed doors and not under the uncomfortable scrutiny of his family.

"I never mind spending time with you, Lil," he tells her, instead. "But we might want to do our best to avoid my aunt, my stepmom and at least one of my sisters because they will probably be a little... overwhelming."

"Why?" Lillie asks, concern knitting her brow.

"Because," he laughs. It's a painfully nervous sound. "I haven't introduced them to anyone I've dated since college and they're bound to be curious."

Her eyes go huge at that admission. "You're 27," she points out.

"Yes," he agrees.

"You haven't brought a girl home to meet your family since _college_?"

"Lil, you and I both know I'm not that guy," he says, holding her gaze as she registers his words. It's blunt, but he's never left any room for doubt about this. Right from the start, he'd been incredibly clear about what he wants from a relationship with her and what he doesn't. For Will, work and his family comes first. It's always been that way and he can't see that changing. Women are fun. He loves dating, loves flirting, loves sex, but he's not really interested in anything deeper. He doesn't have time for that in his life.

"Right," she confirms. If she sounds a little sad with that agreement, he chooses to bypass that for the moment. He's got enough on his plate this evening and he doesn't need to complicate things more.

That'll be a choice he'll sort of regret later, but he doesn't know that right now.

"Come on," he says, kissing her fingers before dropping their joined hands to his side and tugging a little. "Let's go mingle. It'll be fun. We can eat very expensive finger food and drink my aunt's hidden champagne stash while we pretend we're secret agents infiltrating the room, make up stories about everyone's lives."

She laughs at that, grinning and shaking her head in response, allowing him to lead her toward the building. It might take a bit of convincing, but Lillie will play along. She always does, even if it takes a little encouragement. He makes her bolder, brings out a playfulness that she usually keeps locked away, hidden behind the veil of who she thinks she's _supposed_ to be, how she's _supposed_ to act. Not around him, though. And the ability he seems to have to draw that out is probably his very favorite thing about their quasi-relationship.

Even more than the sex, which is saying a lot.

Whoever is manning the entry to the event obviously recognizes him and lets him and his date through immediately. But, as convenient as that is, Will's pretty sure that just underscores for Lillie that she's not just here with Will-the-firefighter-she-met-at-work; she's here with Will-Queen-the-senator's-son-and-former-mayor's-grandson. He's proud to be a Queen and he's never once regretted changing his last name, but there are times where being his father's son makes his relationships a lot harder.

He lets go of her hand to settle his fingers against the small of her back, guiding her into the ballroom. It's almost second nature when he rubs his thumb against the bare line of her spine, right where the it meets the silky fabric of her dress. Her skin is far softer than the cloth and he's really, really looking forward to savoring the feel of it in a far more intimate setting later. But, the anticipation makes everything even better, so he's going to enjoy that for for the time being. And, the touch of his hand to her back has the added bonus of putting her a little more at ease. He can feel her muscles unbunching beneath his palm and he gives her bare shoulder a quick kiss.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get the meet-and-greet part of this over so we can steal the good wine unnoticed."

" _Steal_ it?" Lillie asks, looking at him for clarification. So… apparently she's gotten to know him fairly well these last few months.

"Aunt Thea won't mind," he promises. "But she's not gonna keep the best stuff out here for just anyone to order up at the open bar. I promise she'll have a stash in the back somewhere."

"Will," she says cautiously, "I'm not sure-"

"Hey, Dad," Will says abruptly, cutting her off. Lillie freezes at his voice, gulping heavily before turning to follow his gaze. Suddenly, his hand on her back doesn't seem to be relaxing her at all.

"Mister Senator," she greets. God, she looks like a deer in the headlights.

"Just Oliver's fine," his father smiles affably. She laughs in a brilliant display of nerves as a response.

"Dad, this is Lillie," Will introduces. The moment he starts speaking, his stepmom appears at his dad's side - possibly materializing out of thin air; it's that sudden.

"Hi Lillie," she smiles a little too brightly, outstretching her hand to shake his date's. "I'm Felicity. It's so nice to finally meet a girlfriend of Will's."

"Date," Will corrects tensely as Lillie shakes his stepmother's hand. "Not girlfriend, just… just a date." Despite the fact that there's no way there's any confusion about the mostly-casual nature of their relationship, his words definitely make Lillie look more uncomfortable. "We're not… big on labels," he adds, in an attempt to smooth things over a little.

If the look on his father's face is any indication, he's failing pretty hard. "Labels can confuse things more sometimes," his dad agrees, making a solid effort to help him out. "And sometimes it takes a while to figure out the right one."

"Right," Will agrees, exhaling some of his uneasiness.

"So…" his stepmother says in a giddy little voice that proves without a doubt that she's nowhere near as on board with this whole label-less thing as his father is. "How'd you two meet?"

"I'm an E.R. nurse," Lillie replies. Her voice sounds natural, but practiced, like maybe she spent some time reciting this in the mirror last night. "Will was bringing in a little girl from a car crash, trying to keep her awake by telling her jokes. It got me laughing, too."

Oh god, his stepmother finds this romantic, doesn't she? She looks way too taken with this story for his comfort level. She's got one hand resting over her heart with a dreamy look on her face as she grips her husband's sleeve.

"That's such a good story! Oliver, isn't that such a good story?" she asks, looking to her husband.

"It is," he agrees before leaning in and whispering something that Will is pretty sure sounds like " _Too much, honey_."

Yeah... this is awkward all of a sudden and Will doesn't do awkward, so he skims the room for a distraction instead. What he finds makes him do a doubletake.

"She brought the photographer?" he asks sharply, eyes snapping back to his father.

"Be nice," his dad says immediately, his tone full of warning. "This guy is obviously crazy about your sister."

"I don't like him," Will announces, looking back to table where Jules is chatting happily with Ellie. Jules' boyfriend, the photographer… _Jackson_ is staring at the dark-haired sister with the most blatant case of heart-eyes Will's ever seen. Jules laughs about something. It's loud and expressive, would have been a completely foreign sound coming from her lips not that long ago, and she turns to look back at her boyfriend. The pair of them smile at each each other like there's no one else in the room.

"He seems like a good guy," Oliver tells Will. "He's respectful and Jules is clearly happy."

"I don't like it," Will decides aloud. "I don't trust him."

"You don't know him," Felicity points out.

 _Correctly_.

Maybe that's part of Will's problem with the guy. He's always been a huge part of Jules' life, but this guy… this guy she's kept to herself. She'd only introduced them last week because he and Jackson had both shown up to see if she wanted to grab lunch at the same time. And she clearly hadn't been thrilled about the run-in.

"Do _you_ know him?" Will counters, fixing his eyes on his stepmother as his date clears her throat to his side.

Sorry, Lillie. You're lovely, but family takes precedent every time.

"I know _her_ ," his stepmother counters. "And she's the happiest I've ever seen her. They haven't been together that long. It's new, still. I understand her wanting to keep him to herself for a while. But, Will… I think you're gonna to have to get used to Jackson. I have the feeling he's going to be around for a long time."

Judging by the way Jules can't seem to keep herself from touching this guy and the way his eyes absolutely never leave her face, Will has to admit that's probably true. He might not be one to dive head-first into relationships, but Jules is. She has been since the moment she started dating, much to her big brother's frustration. But her taste in guys, so far, has proven entirely lacking. It was just a year ago that she'd had her heart completely broken by a jackass musician who'd never deserved her.

On one hand, it's her life and she can do what she wants, even if that means she learns a lot of things the hard way - which thus far she seems dead-set on doing. On the other, it's really hard for him to remember that she's 20 now. She's not the little girl who'd hid out in his room with comic books and too-loud music to drown out the sound of her baby brother fussing over naptime. She's his little sister, but she's not actually little anymore. Accepting that is taking him some time. But… he knows he owes it to Jules to try harder.

"If this guy so much as makes her shed one tear…" Will starts off, shaking his head.

"Then she'll handle it," his father tells him in no uncertain terms. "And she'll know she can come to us for backup or support if she needs it. But, son, you've gotta let her live her life. She's entitled to that. And, for what it's worth, I think you need to give him a chance. From the little bit I've talked to Jackson, he's nothing like Miles."

Even at a glance, that much is clearly true. Miles would've been kicked back in his chair, spread out and lazily demanding everyone's attention, but _especially_ Jules'. By complete contrast, Jackson doesn't seem to give a damn about being seen. He's completely enamoured with Jules, hangs on her every word. And they both look so _happy_.

"Just tell me Ellie didn't bring a date, please?" Will requests. He sort of means it as a joke, but the way his father and stepmother look at each other tells him he missed something. " _Tell me_ that Ellie didn't bring a date, please?" he asks again.

"She didn't," his father says slowly. "She asked a girl at school out but it didn't go well. Don't bring it up."

Oh… that drains the fight right out of him. He goes from being annoyed that anyone is dating his baby sisters to being annoyed that someone isn't in no time flat. It's confusing as hell and he's not sure what to do with how that makes him feel.

But it all boils down to one thing… the same thing it always comes down to.

"Is she okay?" Will asks.

"She will be," Felicity replies. "A little heartbroken and a bit embarrassed, but that's life sometimes."

It's also why Jules is sticking close to her sister. Will knows that immediately, even if the older girl will never admit it and Ellie probably doesn't realize it. Jules can be fiercely but quietly supportive of all her siblings, but especially Ellie.

"Do you happen to know where the ladies room is?" Lillie asks Felicity, pulling Will's attention back to his date. He's usually so good at honing in on the woman he's with, but not when his family is nearby. It's probably a bit jarring for Lillie and he does actually feel a little bad about it.

"Sure," Felicity replies with a smile. "Come on, I'll show you. I could use to refresh my lipstick anyhow."

Well, _that's_ a fib. But, Will's also not surprised. Felicity is clearly hungry for more non-existent details about his relationship, such as it is, and she's quickly picked up on the idea that Lillie is a much better source for intel than he is.

"You okay with this?" he asks quietly, grabbing Lillie's forearm and leaning down so only she can hear him.

"It's fine," she promises with a smile. "I promise not to give away _all_ your secrets."

"I'll try to track down some wine by the time you get back," he says in return.

"Excellent plan," she replies, kissing him softly on the cheek before stepping away with Felicity chattering at her side.

He and his dad watch the pair for a moment as they head toward a hallway on the far side of the ballroom.

"She's cute," his dad tells him after a moment. "Seems nice."

"Yeah," Will agrees. "She is. Where's Nate?"

It's not his most elegant subject change.

"Sitting with the QI board near the bar talking about stock prices," his father tells him with blatant amusement.

" _Seriously_?" Will asks, whipping his head around in search of his barely-thirteen-year-old brother. Sure enough, there's Nate in a suit and tie holding court with three board members and his mother's executive assistant. The kid's gonna be middle aged before he's out of his teens, at this rate. "Well at least he isn't bringing a date, yet."

Oliver chuckles at that. "It happens fast, but not _that_ fast. How's Bethany doing?"

If there's one thing in the world guaranteed to make Will smile, it's someone asking after his baby sister. In truth, he's been more like a second parent to the little girl since their mom died. Bethany hadn't even been two yet when the accident happened and Will had been keenly aware that he was the little girl's only living tie to her mother. He took that very seriously and, in some ways, it had forced him to grow up quite a bit.

"She's fantastic," he answers with tremendous pride. "She starts kindergarten in two months, can you believe it?"

"I really can't," his dad replies, amused but fully meaning his words.

"I took her to the beach last week," Will says, pulling out his phone to share pictures. "She loves the tidepools. She said she wants to be a starfish when she grows up."

His dad laughs at that, watching on as Will flips through a few shots on his phone. But it's Will himself and not the pictures that capture his father's attention.

"She's lucky to have you," his dad says after a minute as Will shows off a selfie of him and Bethy posing with a really poorly constructed sand castle.

"I'm lucky to have her," Will counters. It's true. Bethy's helped shape him into the man he's become and he's incredibly grateful to have that link to his mother.

"She'd be proud of you, you know?" he dad asks, as if reading his mind. "Things weren't the best between you two when she died, but your mom would be so incredibly proud of how you've stepped up and been there for Bethany and David. You're a good brother and a good man, Will."

That's a little heavy for Will's taste. He stares at the screen at his phone even as it times out and goes black. The phone gets thrust back into his pocket before he dares look back up at his dad. It takes him that moment to get his thoughts under control. Any chance of his mother being an easy subject died along with her.

"Thanks," he says. His father just nods and squeezes his shoulder. His father has always understood him well.

"Wanna say hi to your sisters?" he suggests, tilting his head to where the girls are still talking and laughing. Jules has scooted her chair closer to Jackson and his arm is draped around her, his hand stroking her bare shoulder, right along the edge of her scarlet red dress that's way lower cut than anything he's ever seen his sister in before. Yeah… that's gonna take some getting used to.

"In a bit," Will says. "I promised Lil some good wine. Any idea where Aunt Thea stashed it?"

"What makes you think she did?" his father asks. But he's all amusement, trying to hold back a laugh as he raises an eyebrow at his oldest.

"Retired or not, I assume your mother is here somewhere," Will points out. "And we both know she's… let's go with selective."

"Don't start with her today, Will," his father tells him, the humor draining from his face. "Not here."

"I have absolutely no problem continuing to pretend she doesn't exist, if she'll extend the same courtesy," he smiles tightly. His father sighs heavily in response. There's something he wants to say, but he bites his tongue and that's just as well because whatever it is, Will doesn't want to hear it. He's never been on great terms with his grandmother and it's only gotten progressively worse these past few years. For his siblings' sakes, he will fake a smile for photos at family holiday dinners, but that's the beginning and end of his relationship with Moira Queen. He can't see that ever changing. He doesn't even want it to.

"There's a fridge in the staff break room where we've got the better wine chilling," his father admits. "Grab whatever you want. There's plenty. And if you'd grab your stepmother a red, I'd appreciate it."

"Coming right up," Will promises with a wink and a lopsided grin before heading toward a door on the far side of the room marked 'Staff Only.' Nate spots him before he gets too far, the barely-teenage boy waving excitedly his direction. It's remarkable how quickly the kid can shift between wannabe-businessman and gangly, awkward soon-to-be eighth grader. Will gives him a quick wave in return, but keeps heading back toward the employee area without breaking his stride.

Staff is pretty much everywhere in the ballroom. There are tons of people milling about with trays of champagne and hor d'oeuvres too small to make a dent in anyone's hunger. But, his Aunt Thea runs a tight ship. In spite of the way her body has been broken down by decades of experimental treatments for her condition, her mind is as sharp as ever. She can barely stand these days, has come to rely on a wheelchair more than the cane he's seen her with most of his life, but she hasn't let that slow her down. The Queen Family Foundation is her baby and, with her husband at her side, she's poured every ounce of her energy into it for the last decade. So, it's no surprise to Will when he spies her gesturing emphatically as she talks to a very uncomfortable looking Deputy Chief of Police. Forget the fact that he's the new mayor's husband, it's not like Thea's about to go easy on him when crime is down but police brutality is on the rise. It's also no surprise when Will pushes through that 'staff only' door and finds the hallway beyond it is entirely empty. His Aunt Thea has a way of motivating everyone to action… serving staff included, it appears.

There's a long series of doors and a surprisingly winding hall. He wanders through a few doorways, finding offices and a restroom, before pushing through the door to the break room. However, he is not alone once he does.

The door falls open far too easily when he pushes on it entirely because someone is pulling on the other side. And, before he even realizes what's happening, he finds himself colliding with the other person, reaching out to grab hold of them and keep them upright.

A bottle of wine is pressed against his chest, as his hand grips a decidedly feminine curve of the other person's waist. He starts to apologize, to back off, but then the other person's identity registers and he freezes instead.

So does she.

"Amelia," he breathes out. His fingertips suddenly feel a million times more sensitive. The heat of her body soaks through the midnight blue, strapless gown she's wearing. Her hair's in some kind of complicated arrangement that leaves her neck fully exposed and the scent of her perfume wafts over him. It makes his mouth water and his fingers ache to touch her without layers of fabric in the way.

But then, Amelia's always been a road-not-taken for him.

He's rarely seen her, these past few years. But every time he has, he's been struck by ' _what if_.' There is something unique to her that's always piqued his interest and set his body abuzz with just the barest glance. It has from the first time he noticed her.

Will's been involved with a lot of women over the years. Not a one has ever affected him like Amelia.

"Will," she replies, every bit as startled as him. Even the single syllable of his name sounds uneven spilling from her lips and he's painfully aware - as always - that this chemistry they've never explored is nowhere near one-sided.

Neither of them move for a very long moment. She's practically pressed against his chest, nothing but a bottle of wine between them, his fingers gripping the curve of her waist. Amelia's taller than most women and it puts her near eye-level with him.

It would take so little to dip down and kiss her.

But, in spite of the way her gaze drops to his mouth and she licks her lips, that's not his place.

"Hi," she says after a minute.

"Hi," he replies. He's pretty sure his voice has dropped an entire register, and he doesn't miss the way she shivers in his arms when he speaks.

"You, um," she starts, finally stepping back slightly. His hand drops from her body, despite the fact that his fingers itch to pull her closer. "Sorry... about that."

"Don't be," he tells her, forcing a playful grin. "I never object to beautiful women falling all over me."

She snorts and shakes her head, the seriousness and intensity of the situation falling away under the influence of flirty banter. It's a shield, in some ways. And, for all that Will loves to flirt, this is less fun than usual… because it's less honest, because there's so much more to explore here than jokes and innuendo. And they both know it. But, it is easier. Generally, Will's a fan of easy, of uncomplicated. This time, though… this time, he feels like maybe that's not enough.

"You look incredible," he offers her, no trace of a joke in his voice.

 _God_ , is that true. Her dress fits like a glove with sheer strips that run from just below her hips all the way to floor and a matching one at the top of her bustline. She takes his breath away, leaves him feeling like the world is spinning too fast and the rug's being pulled out from beneath him.

And all she's done is say his name and make small talk.

"Thank you," she says, tucking an imaginary stray hair behind her ear. "You don't look so bad, yourself."

It's a flippant remark, but the way she says it is gritty, sounds like early morning pillow talk and it runs through his body like a lightning strike.

"Thanks," he replies. He searches her eyes, trying to hold on to the rare, precious charge in the air that makes him feel alive in an entirely different way than anything else he's ever found. "It's been a while. It's good to see you. Are you still at the mayor's office?"

"For now," she agrees. "I just accepted an offer for Mayor Willis' Chief of Staff, though."

"Central City?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says, clearing her throat and nodding like she's trying to clear her head. "Yes… Central City. It's a good offer and my boyfriend lives there, so…"

"Ah…" Will replies, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. "That's good. Good for you. I'm happy for you."

"It _is_ good," she says. Her voice is a little too firm, like maybe she's trying to remind herself. "Thank you. It's what I've always wanted."

"You deserve it, then," he tells her.

She sucks in a deep breath and swallows hard. "Thanks," she says. But it sounds like the word hurts her to say and he wonders what he should have told her instead. It's not like he has any sway over her life. He's just a guy she turned down an invitation to the county fair with once, a guy she said 'no thanks' to coffee with, a man she'd hesitantly shrugged off when he'd mentioned he had an extra ticket to a ballgame. He's nothing to her.

So, why does it feel like she wanted him to ask her to stay?

"Well, I was just… grabbing a bottle of wine for your grandmother," she says awkwardly, holding up the bottle in her hand like proof.

"Ah..." he echoes, eyes drifting to the label. It's his grandmother's favorite. "I promised my date a good bottle."

"Right… of course," she says quietly, shaking her head with a silent laugh that looks like she's berating herself. "Well… I'll let you get the bottle and get back to your date then."

With that she moves to slip past him. Before he even realizes what's happening, he finds his hand darting out to grab hold of her elbow. She looks down to his fingers against her skin before she meets his gaze. There's a question in her eyes that she can't ask and he can't answer.

It's there, though.

And both of them know it.

"Save me a dance?" he requests. They're just inches apart and regardless of the fact that he has a date and she has a boyfriend, there's absolutely no denying the undercurrent of tension that lives in the space between them.

"Your date won't mind?" she asks. If she drifts a little closer as she speaks, neither of them acknowledge it.

' _I don't care if she does_ ,' sits on his tongue, but he can't say that, even if it's true. So instead, he slips his hand slightly up her bare arm and tells her, "She won't. Will your boyfriend?"

"He's not here," Amelia replies, which isn't an answer, but sends a little thrill through him anyhow.

"His loss," Will tells her, his eyes skimming down her form yet again. "But I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't happy to hear that."

That might be a step too far, if the warning look she gives him is any indication, but she does nothing to put more distance between them.

"You're very dangerous, Will Queen," she murmurs, eyes fixed on his lips as she speaks before she looks back up to meet his gaze. "Do you know that?"

"Not to you," he tells her quietly.

She just hums in reply, because she can't agree with him. Even he realizes it's probably not true. Given half a chance, he'd turn her entire world upside down and they both know it.

"Find me later," she says. It sounds like a challenge and an invitation all wrapped up in one, which makes her all the more enticing. "I'd love to dance."

 _With you._

It hangs in the air unsaid, but he hears it anyhow. He slackens his hold on her elbow and as she pulls away it leaves his fingertips trailing down the skin of her arm. She shivers as his touch skims her arm and everything in him says to pull her closer, but he lets her go instead. The promise of a dance is the most he has any right to expect and whatever chance there was for them feels like it's long since passed.

He watches as she goes, never turning back to look at him, and he wonders what might have happened all those years ago if he'd noticed her instead of her friend. It's hard to envision. He'd been so fresh off of a breakup with his only real girlfriend and he hadn't been looking for anything with meaning. But… but he thinks maybe he would have found it anyhow.

Amelia isn't someone he can imagine letting go of.

Reality crashes down the moment she's out of sight because regardless of what might have been, that's not what _is_. He has to wonder if she'd had things backwards, if maybe she isn't the one dangerous to him. Because, God but she makes him want things he can't have, sends his head spinning and his heart pounding with nothing more than a glance. In truth, he knows little about her. They aren't friends, have never been lovers, but the connection between them defies reason. He's never felt anything like it with anyone else and that feeling is painfully addictive, leaves him craving her presence every time he's so much as glimpsed her at her office or spotted her on television at his grandmother's side.

But their lives, as much as they cross from time to time, are clearly on divergent paths. She's headed for Central City with a high-powered job and a boyfriend. His place is here with his family and the career he loves.

He sighs and tries to clear his head, pushes back images of a life gone just a _bit_ differently, just a _bit_ more in tune with hers. It doesn't work very well, but he puts one foot in front of the other, makes his way over to the fridge in the break room and grabs a bottle of champagne for Lillie and a cabernet for Felicity.

Dwelling on what could have happened does no one any good. His mom's death taught him that. So, he fixes his head on the here-and-now… for the moment. But there's nothing that will keep him from indulging in dancing with Amelia later. Holding on to her, relishing the feel of that charged connection… he's not strong enough to deny himself that. He doesn't even want to be.

Glancing at the clock, he finds it's been longer than it should take for anyone to grab a bottle of wine. Lillie is no doubt wondering what happened to him and he feels vaguely guilty for sticking her with his family while he disappears and longs for another woman. Though he really doesn't do exclusive relationships, at least not for long, he's usually so good at focusing on who he's with.

Amelia is his Achilles heel, though.

Still, he owes Lillie a bit of an explanation, if not an apology, and the best way to provide both at once is a plate of those chocolate covered raspberries that he _knows_ his aunt ordered for the event. So, bottles of wine in hand, Will leaves the break room in search of the kitchen to swipe a plate full of the desserts.

The layout of this building makes no sense in the least and, yet again, he finds himself exploring more rooms than he should really have to in order to find the kitchen. How many offices and store rooms does a banquet hall need?

Three doors down the hall he finds something, but it's most definitely not what he'd been looking for.

Will is no stranger to slipping away with a girl at a formal event. Hell, he's been doing that since he was a teenager and he's really not one to judge a couple for stealing some time alone. The pair he finds are passionately intertwined. The girl's dress is half unzipped with one strap falling off of her shoulder as she straddles her boyfriend. His hand is spread out against the skin of her back, tie and jacket lie rumpled on a nearby desk, his dress shirt loose. Will's been this guy. He's done exactly this more times than he can count. So, Will's not about to have any problem with some overly affectionate couple sneaking off for a quickie.

At least… he's not until he recognizes the dress of the girl straddling her boyfriend's lap.

" _Jules_?" he asks incredulously. He damned near drops a bottle of wine.

The dark-haired girl squeaks and jumps, almost smacking her face against her boyfriend's as her head whips around toward the him. And, sure enough, it's his baby sister perched atop a guy in a really, really compromising position with traces of her lipstick on the boy's face and her dress hiked up to her upper thighs. Will sorta wants to die right now. Or throw up. Or possibly throttle the lipstick-smeared kid. He's not sure which.

Sure, he's well aware that Jules is twenty. This is not her first boyfriend and - thanks to a super awkward conversation last year - he knows full well that she's not a virgin. But that doesn't mean he isn't just a bit nauseous at the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Will!" Her cheeks are bright red as she quickly pulls the strap to her dress back atop her shoulder. Her boyfriend zips up the back of it and gulps heavily, looking between Will and Jules. "You uh… you remember Jackson?"

"H… Hi," the man in question says, waving his fingers awkwardly and giving a nervous million-dollar smile.

"Hi," Will replies flatly, eyes narrowing at the other man as he puts down both bottles of wine on a nearby table with a thud.

" _Ugh_ ," Jules proclaims, rolling her eyes. "Don't be such a big brother."

She goes to stand, but Jackson gives a slightly panicked laugh and pulls her back onto his lap. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why and Will just finds himself hoping like hell that the other man's pants are fully zipped up.

"I _am_ your big brother," Will reminds Jules.

"Then you should be thrilled that I have an amazing boyfriend who makes me happy," Jules replies, looking back toward Jackson who pauses in his hurried attempts to rebutton his shirt. The soft looks in their eyes as they soak each other in is enough to make Will wildly uncomfortable. But, that's nothing compared to the way Jackson sighs and smiles as he strokes a thumb across Jules' cheek. Will has to look away. It's innocent and intimate all at once.

"You make me happy, too, Julie."

Will barely hears it. It's not meant for his ears by any stretch of the imagination, but there's no denying that Jackson sounds like he means every bit of what he's saying. In theory, that should probably ease Will's nerves about the whole situation, but it sort of has the opposite effect. This guy can't be much more than 22. Will remembers being 22. He remembers whispering words just like that to Allison and wholeheartedly meaning them at the time. But youth has a way of fogging over reality, making relationships seem like more than they are. And he knows well what kind of heartbreak follows when it all comes crashing down.

"Jules… would you mind giving me a minute to talk to your brother?"

That jars Will's attention back to the couple. From the looks of things, Jules is just as surprised by the request as he is, her eyes going wide and wary as she looks between Will and her boyfriend. She doesn't want to leave the two of them alone. That much is very obvious.

"Please, Julie?" Jackson asks, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting his fingertips drift down across her cheek, the curve of her jawline, his eyes trailing along the entire way. "Five minutes."

She weighs the request for a minute, searching his face for something. There's an uneasiness around her eventual agreement, but she gives it anyhow.

"Five minutes," she echoes firmly, leaning in and kissing her boyfriend in a soft, lingering way before murmuring to him "five minutes or I'm busting back in here to save you."

"I'm not gonna hurt him," Will says petulantly. Because… _honestly_ … he probably won't. That's a near certainty. Probably.

"Well, that _wasn't_ my concern," Jules replies incredulously. Her eyes are fixed hard enough on Will that he's actually a bit sheepish. This is something that Jules absolutely knows to take advantage of.

She slips off of her boyfriend's lap, squeezing his hand before letting go and crossing a few feet across the room to Will. Her hair's disheveled and her makeup a bit smeared, but her cheeks are flushed with absolute joy. "I want you to get along," she tells him quietly, casting a quick look back toward Jackson. "I love you, Will. And I… I _really_ like him. A lot. If you ruin this for me, I don't know how I'd forgive you for it."

Her eyes are serious, pleading with him and startlingly expressive. That might scare Will more than anything, because Jules doesn't _do_ that. She doesn't expose her vulnerabilities, never displays this much of herself. Not this easily. It's a whole different side to Jules and - while that might actually be a good thing - it means there's a much larger chance of her getting hurt. That's an idea that terrifies Will. His baby sister has been through so much, too much, and he'd do whatever it takes to protect her.

"I will always do absolutely anything to keep you safe and happy, Julie-bug," he replies, his voice as quiet as hers had been, his eyes begging her to understand. Her features crumble a bit at that, the fight slipping away. His heart's in the right place and it seems like she knows that.

"Then be nice to him," she tells Will. She worries her lower lip for a second, chancing another glance back toward where Jackson watches her before catching Will's eye again. "You're both way too important to me for anything else."

Damn it… when she puts it like that…

"Yeah," he agrees, even if it comes out more as a grumble than anything else. Jules grins wider in response. It's toothy and clearly delighted, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining. If nothing else, that response would have told Will how very happy this guy makes his sister.

"Thank you," she says, rising up on her toes to peck his cheek before looking back to Jackson and blowing him a kiss. It's sappy how adoring the boy is as he watches her turn to leave. But, then… if it's genuine, isn't that exactly what Will should want for his little sister? Someone who outright adores her?

Regardless, he's not ready to face this. He's not that much older than Jules, but he can still remember clearly how excited he was to hold his baby sister for the first time in the hospital, how his father had gently placed her in his arms with a reminder to support her neck, how she'd blinked up at him and promptly spit up all over his arm…

"So… hi."

Will turns away from the door Jules disappeared through to face her boyfriend. To the kid's credit, he's standing just a few feet away, his hand extended in greeting. His shirt's buttoned correctly, but it's untucked and there's traces of Jules' dark red lipstick on the collar.

"I think we started off on the wrong foot… twice, actually," Jules' boyfriend tells him. "I'm Jackson. I've heard a lot about you."

He's kind of making it hard to hate him and that irks Will a bit more, so he answers with, "Well, I've heard almost nothing about you," as he shakes the other man's hand a bit too tightly.

Jackson grimaces at his grip, but the near silent laugh he lets out tells Will that he'd expected as much.

"Julie can be a private person," Jackson acknowledges.

"Yes," Will grits out, " _Julie_ can."

It's meant to make Jackson uncomfortable - because Will can definitely hold a grudge and apparently he can be really petty sometimes, too - but yet again the guy does exactly the right thing.

"Look, I get it," Jackson tells him, taking a step back and sticking his hands in his pant pockets. "I'd be suspicious and protective of my little sister if I found her kissing a guy I didn't even know. I'm sorry it went down that way. But I swear to you that Julie means a lot to me and I'll never treat her wrong."

"You think hiding away in an office to screw around is treating her _right_?" Will counters.

Jackson actually chuckles at that. It sorta makes Will want to throttle him more. "You ever try telling your sister 'no?' Because if that works out well for you, you're gonna have to tell me how you manage it. I've never been able to. Not once."

The idea that his sister had been the one to drag her boyfriend away for some illicit time alone rather than the other way around is one that sets Will's eye twitching. Thankfully, Jackson isn't done talking, because he really cannot begin to think of his sister in those terms.

"I don't have to tell you how incredible your sister is," Jackson says. "But I do think maybe you need to hear that I see it. I see _her_. I know exactly how special she is and how lucky I am that she ever looked at me twice. I'm grateful for it every single day."

"Every day for… what? The last two weeks?" Will scoffs. Because, _come on_ , this is ridiculous. He gets chemistry. He understands how fast you can feel connected to someone. But this? This is over the top.

"No," Jackson says, looking tremendously confused. "From the beginning."

Something with that doesn't jive at all and Will stops and stares at Jackson for a second. Just last week when he'd run into this guy for the first time, Jules said it was new, that she'd just started seeing him. At the time, he figured that was meant literally, but now…

"It's been more than a few weeks, hasn't it?" Will realizes aloud.

Jackson looks uncomfortable for the first time since Jules left the room. "Maybe you should ask her about it," he suggests.

"I'm asking _you_ ," Will tells him. If his voice is a bit intense, he doesn't really feel like that's unforgivable right now. "How long have you been dating my sister?"

There's a very long moment where Jackson's obviously weighing what to do. In hindsight, Will's going to respect that a whole lot more. He's clearly trying not to step on Jules' toes, but in the moment it's just frustrating.

"Six months next week," Jackson finally tells him. You could probably knock Will over with a feather at that proclamation. "We met her first day at the dance company. I work for the advertising and web design agency that they contract with. I came out to photograph her dancing for her bio on the site. She had my head spinning from the instant I met her."

Will barely hears any of what Jackson's saying. Six months… _Six months_? How the hell had he not known this? Sure, he's been busier lately with Bethany, but it's not like he and Jules aren't insanely close. She's his best friend. She always has been. That he didn't know this…

"And you didn't want to meet her family? All that time, you never wanted to step up and maybe introduce yourself?" Will asks.

"I did!" Jackson counters immediately before sighing and running his hand through his dark hair. "...I did. I've been asking her for months. I know she doesn't need anyone's permission to date, but I still wanted to look her dad in the eye and shake his hand. I wanted him to know right from the start that I care about her. I was raised to believe that's what you do. But Julie… she kept putting it off and making excuses. I don't know why, but I have learned not to push her."

That is undeniably true. When pushed, Jules retreats. It doesn't take much for her to run. He wonders how quickly Jackson figured that out.

"She's got good reasons to be cautious," Will admits. "Things haven't always been easy for her."

"I know," Jackson replies, which has Will giving him a disbelieving look. "She's told me. About the kidnapping. About the mess with Miles. About the whole thing with Tyler."

"Who the fuck is Tyler?" Will bristles.

Jackson freezes at that, but he doesn't answer. Instead he huffs out a noise of frustration and shakes his head. "You're gonna have to ask her that one, man," he says finally. "That gets to be her story to tell, not mine. But it's also history. I'm sorry it's taken so long for us to meet and I really wish it'd happened differently… in part because you're actually more frightening than your father."

"You don't know him very well, then," Will deadpans.

"Fair enough," Jackson says with a half-smile that reminds Will of Jules. "I only got a chance to meet him two weeks ago. But… look, Will. You probably won't want to hear this, but I'm in love with your sister. I'm around for as long as she'll have me and I really hope we can get to know each other because I know how important you are to her."

Will's not sure he's been as earnest as this kid at any point in his entire life and that's frustrating as hell, because he sort of believes him. And, in spite of finding him half-dressed with Jules literally on top of him, he kind of likes the guy.

Damn.

"If you hurt her…" Will starts. His tone is all warning, but there's a layer of acceptance beneath it that Jackson must pick up on because his eyes smile as he replies with a firm, "Never."

"We're cool then," Will decides before nodding toward the other man's discarded jacket and tie. "Just… do me a favor and don't let me catch you two half dressed ever again. Will you?"

"I think that's more than fair," Jackson replies, grabbing his jacket and slipping it on.

The phone in Will's pocket is vibrating and he pulls it out with a wince to find that Lillie's messaging him. He really has been gone an unforgivably long time.

" _Not that your stepmother isn't lovely, but are you pressing grapes for the wine or…?"_ stares up at him.

"Shit," he mutters.

"Everything okay?" Jackson asks with clear concern.

"Fine," Will tells him as he punches out an apology to Lillie before looking up at the other man. If he's gonna try to get to know this guy, this is as good a time as any to start. "I sort of ditched my date with my stepmother… She's not exactly happy. And I can't actually blame her for that at all."

Jackson winces on his behalf, making an uncomfortable hiss-like noise. "You can use me and Julie for cover," he offers. "Just tell her the truth. It's not like you were trying to ditch her or anything. I'd appreciate it if you leave out that Julie's dress was, uh… unzipped, if you can. I'd really prefer that not get back to your dad. But if you can't keep that detail quiet, I can deal with that, too."

This gives Will the tiniest glimpse into Jackson's head. The other guy is advocating for the truth and is clearly willing to take the fallout for his own actions, if it comes to that. And, damn, he would be the kind of guy to fall on his own sword for someone else, wouldn't he?

"I'd rather forget that detail, actually," Will replies. "So, I have no problem leaving it out. Don't worry about it. I can handle Lillie. Thank you though."

"Anytime," Jackson replies just as the door cracks open.

Jules' head peeks through the threshold tentatively. "You're both in one piece?" she asks, looking them over.

"We're fine, honey," Jackson assures her. The term of endearment has Will blinking hard, but Jules' smile is blinding as she makes her way into the room and immediately crosses over to her boyfriend, draping both arms around his neck and looking up at him adoringly.

"I am _very_ glad to hear that," she says as she tucks herself up against him and looks toward Will hopefully.

"It's okay," Will agrees. He's honestly not sure he's ever seen Jules as happy as she is when he says that. She's nothing but pure joy and relief. How long has she worried about this, he wonders. _Why_ had she worried about this? "Jackson, if you could give me just a minute with my sister, we'll meet you back out in the ballroom, okay?"

"Sure," Jackson agrees easily as he holds Jules, his hand stroking up and down her back. Some of Jules' typical wariness has edged back into her features, though, as she watches Will. He hates that, wants her to hold on to that pure, beautiful happiness she'd been exuding just a minute ago. But then… maybe he needs to tell her that. "I'll see you in a few," Jackson tells Jules, tilting her head up to kiss her gently.

She just hums in agreement and holds onto his fingertips until the last second as he walks away.

The sigh that Jules lets out after he's gone is the only noise in the room for a long, long moment. But then, Jules regroups, and the look on her face is a whole lot more familiar than what he's seen of her so far today.

"I really hope you asked me to stick behind so you could apologize for being a horrible cock-block," Jules says, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him defiantly.

This Jules is someone he knows well how to deal with, though.

"Don't do that," he tells her, offering what can only be called a scolding look.

"Do what?" she challenges.

"Brush this off like it's nothing, pretend like all that happened is me walking in on you with some guy," Will clarifies.

"That's all that _did_ happe-"

"You lied to me, Jules!" he snaps. It's louder than he means it to be and she's painfully uncomfortable about being called out, but he can't back down now. This, he realizes quite suddenly, is the crux of what's really bothering him. "Am I thrilled about finding you half-dressed with a guy? No. But you're 20 and I get it. It sort of goes with the territory. What I can't make sense of is that my sister - my very best friend - has been in a pretty serious relationship for half a year and she hid it from me."

Jules deflates a little at that, the fight she'd been righteously gearing up for dissolving into something else right before her eyes. It leaves Will feeling a little drained, too.

"Why would you do that, Jules?" he asks. It's more hurt than anger at this point and that's something that compounds Jules' discomfort tremendously. "Grudgingly, I can admit that he seems like a really nice guy and you're obviously happy, so it wasn't him you were ashamed of… Was it us?"

"What?" she asks sharply. "No. Will that's… that's crazy. I'm not-"

"Tell me what I'm supposed to think then, Jules," he insists. "Because right now all I've got is that my favorite person in the whole world is cutting me out of her life and I don't even know why."

"This isn't… it's not about _you_ ," she swears. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Julie… that's kind of the problem," Will tells her with a frustrated laugh. "I've always thought we were a big part of each other's lives. But right now… it feels like maybe I was wrong."

"I don't want to ruin this!" she shouts. She's all coiled muscles and reddened cheeks that have nothing at all to do with the giddy flush she'd been wearing earlier. "I don't want to ruin this," she says again under her breath, unwrapping her arms and gripping the edge of the desk behind her.

"Explain that," Will tells her. "I swear to God, I'm trying to understand here."

"My life," she starts before pausing, shaking her head and licking her lips. " _Our_ lives are absolutely nuts. I'm the Arrow's daughter and a high profile politician's kid and the ex-mayor's granddaughter. My mother employs half the city."

"Yeah," he agrees, waiting for an actual point, because none of this is news.

"There's nothing normal about our lives, Will," she continues, her voice breaking. "There never has been. There are actual villains with superpowers who come after us and time travellers from alternate universes and secret government agencies. Jackson is _normal_. What I have with him is _normal_. With him, I'm not the Queen girl or the senator's daughter or an heir to a fucking billion dollar fortune. I'm just his Julie. I'm just me. I like that. I want to keep it."

The worst part is that Will gets it. He's spent more than one night lying awake wondering if he's done enough to protect Bethy. Sure, she doesn't have any link to his dad's family, but her life is so normal. If someone went after _him_ , be it media or supervillain, when he was taking care of his baby sister… Well, there's a reason he's got a state-of-the-art security system. But he's never cut himself off from the rest of his family to protect his youngest sibling.

It would never even have occurred to him.

"But I want to keep _you_ , Jules," he tells her. If his voice sounds a little broken, that's authentic. He surely feels like he's crumbling a little. " _We_ want to keep you. You're important to us. And right now it feels like maybe we're expendable to you."

She surely hadn't thought of it in those terms, if the look on her face is any indication. He hates the pained expression she's wearing, hates more that he's the one that put it there, but this is something that needs to be addressed, whether it hurts or not.

"Why did you even bring him tonight, if you wanted to keep us apart?" Will wonders aloud. "It's a Queen family charity gala. Everyone is here, all the parts of your life that you're trying to keep from him. So why bring him?"

Jules hesitates at that, chews her lip nervously as she watches him. Something clicks all of a sudden, pieces slotting into place in Will's head, and his eyes go wide.

"Tell me he didn't buy you a ring," he demands.

"No…" Jules quickly. "No… but he did ask me to move in with him."

"Julie," Will says in a warning tone.

"I said yes," Jules follows up immediately.

"You're twenty," Will tells her firmly.

"Yeah," Jules bristles. "I'm an adult. With a stable career and a boyfriend I love who I've been with for half a year. So, yes, I'm moving in with him. What's so wrong about that?"

"You don't think that's a bit fast?" Will asks.

"Says the guy whose idea of a long term relationship is a fourth date?" Jules scoffs. "We aren't all you, Will. Some of us want more than casual hookups."

"That's not fair," Will tells her, trying not to feel offended and mostly failing. "You don't have any idea what I want or what my relationships are like."

"Really?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Because it occurs to me that if it's more than a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am then you're exactly as secretive about it as I have been. The last girl you introduced us to was Allison and that was, like, a lifetime ago."

"I brought a date tonight," he points out.

"Because Aunt Thea made you," Jules reminds him. "I bet you don't even know that girl's middle name." He doesn't, even though he's sure she said it. It occurs to him that he does know Amelia's. He saw it on her degree framed on her desk at his grandmother's office, once. But assigning that any meaning is a very bad idea. "Jackson's middle name is Harris," Jules continues. "It was his mother's maiden name. She's great, by the way. She's a math teacher in Coast City and she always smells like chalk because she won't use a whiteboard. His parents are still married, have been for thirty years. His dad's a fisherman and he makes the best cioppino in the whole world. His little sister is a high school sophomore. Her name's Hailey and she loves both nail polish and playing guitar, which is the biggest source of conflict in her life, because her nails are always chipping. Are you trying to tell me you've ever had a relationship where you were that intertwined in someone else's life?"

"No," Will replies, because there's not a question there, but she's also missing a really big point. "But because of how you've handled this, I doubt Jackson has either."

 _That_ clearly hit a nerve because Jules bristles horribly and raises her chin in utter defiance.

"Screw you, Will," she growls. It's low and angry and Will has no doubt she wholly means it at the moment. Calling her out like this is a bad move. He knows from a lifetime of experience that she doesn't handle things well when confronted head on.

But that doesn't mean it isn't necessary.

"You're so proud that you know so much about his life and his family," Will points out, dialing back his confrontation a little. "And that's great. They sound nice and I'm sure they love you. How could they not? But you haven't let him have the same experience because you've done everything you can to keep him separate from us."

"I'm protecting him," Jules insists.

"You're protecting _you_ ," Will counters. "You're afraid if he sees all of you that he'll run. Because let's be honest Jules, there is no 'just Julie.' You _are_ a Queen and a politician's daughter and an heir to an absolute fortune. Pretending otherwise means you're keeping part of yourself from him, whether you want to admit it or not."

She takes a steadying breath as she pushes off the desk and walks a few feet until she's near toe-to-toe with him. For a moment, he's not sure what she'll do. They've run the entire gamut of human emotions in just a few minutes, but Jules means more to him than anyone else in the whole world. He can only hope she knows that, because right now he's beyond terrified that he's lost her when he wasn't even looking.

"I love my family," she tells him. "You and Dad and my mom and Ellie and Nate. I love all of you more than you'll ever know. But there are times that who we are has hurt. I'm not about to cut anyone off. That's why I brought Jackson tonight. I need you all to get to know him. I need you to accept that he's a huge part of my life. But I am going to protect him _and_ myself from the celebrity and the danger that comes along with being a Queen as best as I possibly can. So, you have a choice to make, Will. You can accept that on my terms or you can get out of my way. There's no third option."

His heart sinks at that, but he doesn't even have to think about his answer.

"There are no options at all, Jules," he tells her softly. "I could never step aside and watch you walk out of my life. And, don't kid yourself... that's what you meant by getting out of your way. I could _never_. I'm a little devastated that you think I could, that you'd let me."

It seems like the severity of her ultimatum hadn't really registered with her until he laid it out in stark terms and she seems a bit shell-shocked to hear it so bluntly. But he's right. That is what she'd meant. She just hadn't realized it until now.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I'm trying, Will. I've never wanted something so much in my whole life and I just… I'm trying to make everything work. I'm not trying to push you away."

"Even if you did, I wouldn't let you," he says, pulling her in for a hug. She relaxes slightly against him, letting herself soak in his acceptance. It's always been like this with them and he's grateful to see that hasn't changed. "There is no one in this whole world more important to me than you, Jules. I want you to be happy. I want you to be deliriously happy. I just want to be able to be there to see it."

She nods against his chest, her face turned down so that she doesn't meet his eyes. But that's classic Jules. She will take the comfort he offers her, but she won't acknowledge that she needs it.

"I want you to be there to see it, too," she whispers into his jacket. It's so quiet he almost misses it. "I'm just… I'm figuring this out. I brought him today because I need you to get to know him. But I don't know how to balance this yet. Just… be patient with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere," he points out, kissing the top of her head like he did so often when she was just a child. "You're stuck with me."

He can feel her smile against him as she hugs him tightly and when she backs off a moment later and looks up at him, that affectionate grin is still in place. Will has never once been willing to let Jules doubt how much he loves her. Even as a young kid, he'd sensed she needed that and he has been dead-set on providing it from the outset.

"Well… you're stuck with me, too," she tells him. "Even if it takes me a little more time to open up than you'd like."

That's sort of an understatement, but he's going to let that slide this time. He doesn't have much of a choice in the matter.

"So…" she says, her voice suddenly a bit teasing. "Do I need to get to know this date of yours?"

"Ah… probably not," he replies with a nervous smile. "It's not… really like that."

"One of these days it will be," Jules points out. "One of these days it's gonna be a whole lot more and I'm going to very much enjoy watching you go all sappy over some girl."

It's probably the hesitation that gives him away, but he can't help it. His thoughts immediately flit to Amelia. Which is utterly ridiculous because they're nothing at all, but she's under his skin anyhow, burrowed so much deeper than he wants to admit.

"There _is_ a girl," Jules notes perceptively. Suddenly, she's grinning, ready to taunt him mercilessly. "Not your date, maybe, but there's someone."

"Leave it be, Julie," he tells her, equal parts uncomfortable and serious. The memory of Amelia pressed up against him is entirely too fresh for this conversation.

"Will…" she says, clearly taken aback by his tone.

"It doesn't matter," he expands, eyes flitting to his sister briefly. The truth of his own words weighs him down. "She's not available. She's…" _not interested, taken, too accomplished for someone like me_ "...it doesn't matter."

"Okay," Jules agrees, watching him closely as she speaks. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he says with a half-smile. "It's nobody's fault. It's just… not meant to be. That's all."

His phone vibrates in his pocket again and without even looking he knows it's Lillie. For a guy who's usually a really attentive date, he's definitely botched this one. It's a good thing he hadn't been looking for more with Lillie because he'd have basically shot himself in the foot tonight if he had.

"We should get back out there," he advises, grabbing the bottles of wine that he'd actually ditched the party for. They're still chilled, at least. "I'm gonna suggest you tell Dad you're moving in with your boyfriend during the gala," he adds. "He's been awfully kumbaya about your dating life so far, but he does own a shocking amount of weaponry and I'd say it's better safe than sorry in this case."

There's absolutely no way their dad or Felicity will be happy about her decision and they both know it.

"Yeah…" Jules agrees uneasily. "I sorta want them to get to know him a little more first. And we haven't started looking for a place. So, if you could maybe keep that part to yourself for now…"

"Call me before you tell them," Will says, pushing open the door and holding it ajar for her. "You'll need someone on your side."

"And are you?" Jules asks, looking up at him as she passes.

"I'm not thrilled about your choice here, but I'm always on your side, Jules," he vows. "You can count on that."

That seems to be enough for her, if the bright smile on her face is any indication, and the two of them make their way back to the ballroom in comfortable silence. That they stumble across a server with a platter of the chocolate covered raspberries is sheer luck, but Will swipes it gratefully, hoping that it gives a little weight to the apology he owes Lillie.

Unfortunately, as it turns out, she's allergic to raspberries. But, then, as Jules had pointed out, he doesn't have that close a relationship with Lillie. Their lives just aren't that intertwined.


	24. July 2035 Part Two

**July 2035 - Part Two** **  
**

Lillie's annoyance level is entirely justified. Tonight has been, by far, the worst Will's ever treated a date and, even though that was entirely unintentional, he still feels the need to make up for it.

"You're an absolute saint for putting up with me tonight, you know that, right?" he asks, pouring her a very full glass of champagne.

"I think we both know I sin a little too much for that," she replies with a raised eyebrow and a smirk as she takes the outstretched glass. "But you can keep piling on the compliments. I am really enjoying them."

"You're also incredibly charming," he points out, serving himself a glass, as well.

"Well, your stepmother seemed to agree," Lillie says. "She told me that at least twice between some really unfortunate mini-speeches about problems with something at work involving down cycling batteries and how your dad needs knee replacement surgery but won't get it."

Will winces and makes a mental note to both tell his stepmom 'thank you' and 'what the hell?' "Sorry," he tells Lille for what feels like the hundredth time.

"It's fine," she sighs in resignation. "If I'd found my younger sibling half dressed, I'd probably have run off to find some brain bleach, too. But, for what it's worth, your dad really should get that knee replaced sooner rather than later. It's not going to get any better."

Neither of his father's knees are going to be getting any better. It's not an 'if,' at this point; it's a 'when,' despite the fact that his dad is completely unwilling to discuss it. He's got way too much damage to keep this up indefinitely.

"You're absolutely right on that," he agrees with a sigh. "But my dad can be…"

"Stubborn?" Lillie asks, looking up at him with amusement. "Yeah, your stepmom said that, too. Your little sister agreed. Ellie, not the one with the mussed hair."

"Jules," Will replies, his eyes instantly skimming the room for his sisters. He finds Ellie right away. She's chattering away with Sara, looking completely enamored with her best friend's presence. How, exactly, the other girl hasn't picked up on his sister's long-standing crush, he has no idea, but it's probably for the best for everyone involved. Jules takes him another minute to find, but that's because she's on the dance floor, swaying in her boyfriend's arms. He's seen Jules dance for more than a decade, but that's for performances. It's never been like this. It's never been just for the sake of closeness with a boy. It throws him, but he also figures it's something he's going to have to get used to. "That was… yeah."

"You're a pretty solid brother," Lillie decides, watching him over the top of her glass. "Not the best date tonight, but it's early yet. I feel like maybe you can make it up to me still."

Well… that's suggestive, so apparently the evening with her isn't a total wash.

"I'm pretty good at achieving things when I put my mind to it," he smirks at her, slipping a hand around her waist and running his thumb across the curve of her hip. Lillie's curvy, with full hips and a sizable bust, and while Will enjoys most iterations of the female form, he's definitely more drawn to Lillie's than most. This is something he's made absolutely no secret of from their very first meeting and she's well aware that he's more than a little in love with how he can make her body respond to him. She's a little addictive in that way, in the way so many women are. "Let me know if there's anything in particular you've got in mind for an apology."

"I feel confident you'll think of something," she says slyly, leaning into him a little. It sends a bit of a thrill through him. Not Lillie herself, per se, but the hints of innuendo.

"Well, I'll put some real thought to it," he promises, tugging her back toward him a bit and pressing his lips to side of her neck for a brief kiss with just a hint of tongue to it.

If he'd seen her face as he did that, if he'd taken in the way her brow furrowed as her eyes shut and she held in a sigh, he might have figured out right there that things were a little further outside of the norm for him than he'd planned or expected. He might have seen that Lillie's attachment to him is just a few steps beyond his to her. But he doesn't. He's in the dark and at least some of what follows will be a total surprise to him because of that.

"You watching the MI-6 guy?" he asks into her ear.

"What?" she asks with a laugh, tilting her head slightly in his direction.

"British guy near the balcony," he whispers against her skin. He's all grins at this point. He knows well how to play this game and it's one he enjoys greatly. "Keeps tapping his fingers on the tabletop. It's a signal to his partner at the bar. The leggy redhead."

Lillie laughs. "Isn't that the head of the school board? And I'm pretty sure he's Australian."

"Nah," he counters as the man lets out a rattling cough into his sleeve. "That's just his cover. He's MI-6 and he's been poisoned by the Triad. He was in town tracking their drug trade, trying to take down the kingpin, but they figured him out."

"How'd they do that?" she asks, her grin wide and delighted.

"The signals with his partner, of course," Will provides, building up the story. Lillie seems to enjoy this, but she definitely doesn't add much on. "They aren't exactly subtle."

"They haven't even looked at each other since we started talking," Lillie tells him.

"Exactly," Will replies. "Highly suspicious, don't you think?"

"I think… that you are absolutely ridiculous, Will Queen."

"Hmm, maybe," he muses. "And maybe you like that about me."

"I do," she confirms, though he already knew that. She leans into him more, resting her head against his shoulder as she sips some more of her champagne. "What about that one?" she asks, continuing the game.

He follows her gaze to find her nodding toward the table where his grandmother sits with Amelia, the two of them chatting away like the old friends they are. He swallows hard at the sight and takes far too long to answer Lillie's question, but he can't help it. Amelia is so sharply beautiful, so utterly entrancing. The world just slows down when he looks at her, something shifts in the air, sets it alight. He can't explain it, but it's very real and he's not the only one affected.

It's not more than a couple of seconds before Amelia feels his eyes on her and turns, immediately finding his face in the crowd.

The tension is thick enough that it feels like he could reach out and grab it, but it's also fleeting. Amelia's heated gaze slips from him to his date. An unreadable look passes over her face and she quickly turns back to her conversation with his grandmother. He keeps watching her for another moment and he knows she's fully aware of it from the way her cheeks flush and she tucks a stray lock of her long, dark hair behind her ear.

In spite of Lillie watching every moment of this exchange, it's not her that jars him from staring at Amelia. No, it's his grandmother's piercing gaze. She has always been protective of her protégé and she's never made a secret of her distaste for his interest in Amelia. If you asked Will, he'd say she's never made a secret of her distaste for him, but he's also pretty sure that's not the way his grandmother sees it.

But whatever… any hope of mending that relationship is long gone. It's not something that bothers him anymore.

Most of the time.

He tilts his head in a mockery of a greeting toward his grandmother before turning back to meet Lillie's confused eyes.

"That would be my grandmother and someone from her staff," he replies, trying to force a smile. "It's a bit harder to play the game with people you know." Lillie makes a surprised face and glances back toward the table again with fresh eyes. "She was mayor for like sixteen years. You didn't recognize her?"

"Politics isn't my thing, Will," Lillie replies with a bit of a shrug. "She seems kind of…"

"Cold?" Will finishes.

"I was gonna go with reserved, but…" Lillie supplies.

"Yeah, well, you're not wrong," Will bites out.

"The staffer with her doesn't seem that way, though," Lillie says. She's fishing, that much is clear, but Lillie's just a date and he doesn't owe her any explanations.

"She's not," he confirms. If his voice is sharp, definitely not inviting further speculation, that's entirely intentional. But Lillie also doesn't seem willing to let it go.

"Is she an ex or…?"

"No," he replies, wholly unwilling to elaborate. "Did you want to dance?"

That serves as the distraction he'd intended. Lillie's entire countenance shifts, brightening as he watches. "I'd love to," she murmurs, letting him take her glass to place on the counter before leading her to the dance floor.

Growing up the nephew of Thea Queen-Harper means that Will has a more than passable dancing skill-set. Most of his earliest memories of his aunt involve stepping on her toes while she tried to teach him to waltz.

These days, that kind of nostalgia is tinged with just a bit of pain. In spite of the distance between Will and his grandmother, he's always had a fairly good relationship with his aunt and her dancing days are most definitely behind her now. She's never been well, not the entire time he's known her, but her condition has steadily worsened these past few years. His dad won't talk about it, won't even acknowledge it, but her deterioration is clear to anyone who stops to look. And Will privately thinks it won't be too terribly long before they all have no choice but to face it.

Not right now, though.

Right now he has a beautiful girl in his arms who wants to dance.

He twirls Lillie a bit before pulling her in and she laughs delightedly. It's easy to make her happy, easy to earn a smile and a laugh and a kiss. He likes that about her… most of the time. There's nothing wrong with simple.

Will doesn't think about much as they dance, just enjoys the feel of her dress beneath his palms and the way her body brushes against his. Maybe he shows off a bit, spins her about just because he can. He likes being charming, likes the way it makes girls smile at him like he's special, even if it's all so much more surface level than any of them seem to want to admit.

"You're awfully good at this," she tells him as the song changes and he doesn't miss a beat. It's slower and Lillie moves closer, draping her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the end of his hair. It's nice, comfortable.

"Prerequisite for being a Queen," he informs her, looking past her to find his father watching him thoughtfully. It's like he's trying to figure something out, and Will's pretty sure he doesn't like that idea. The look doesn't last long, though, because Felicity grabs his arm excitedly and points toward another spot on the dance floor with a tremendous, emotional smile. Both Will and his father follow her line of sight to find Nate asking Ellie to dance. It's the cutest damned thing Will's ever seen and he grins and shakes his head as his little brother does a very crisp bow and takes his sister's hand, just like they'd done as small kids under Aunt Thea's instructions. Ellie, all of seventeen and never comfortable dancing, rolls her eyes and accepts the invitation.

"Is that your little brother?" Lillie asks, taking in the scene.

"Yeah," Will says. "He's a good kid." Too good, maybe. Will sort of wishes he'd get in a little trouble now and then. That much good behavior can't be healthy.

"They're cute," Lillie proclaims. "I can't imagine my brother asking me or my sister to dance when we were that age."

"They're the best," he agrees. And they really are. Jules and Ellie and Nate and Beth. They're the most meaningful parts of his life. Taking care of Bethy and worrying over Ellie's dedication to joining their dad on his crusade, helping Nate remember that he really is just a kid and being an active part of Jules' life as she takes one big step into adulthood after another… he thinks these may be the most important things he'll ever do.

"He's so proper," Lillie says with a little laugh. He is. It's true. Nate is painfully square shouldered and moves stiffly.

"Okay, so some of us got those genes passed along better than others," Will admits.

"We should switch with them," Lillie says, looking up at him, clearly pleased with her suggestion. "He'd probably like that, right? Having someone to dance with other than his sister? It's not like there's anyone near his age here."

"I think he would," WIll agrees. Truth be told, he'd sort of like to dance with Ellie, too. He hasn't even said hi to her tonight. "You sure you're okay with that?"

"Dancing with a nervous middle schooler with sweaty palms who might step on my feet?" Lillie laughs. "It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure I remember how to do that."

"You're pretty great, you know that?" he asks her as he maneuvers them across the dance floor in Nate and Ellie's general direction.

"I try," she grins. "Besides, I have a soft spot for kids."

This is the third time in as many weeks that she's made some kind of statement to that effect and Will finds himself forcing the smile on his face to stay in place. Because that's a sign. It's a warning signal he's well-attuned to at this point, an alarm that tells him this relationship is nearing its expiration date. Maybe he's wrong this time, though. Maybe she's just a nurse who would prefer working in pediatrics and wants to be nice to his little brother. He's gonna cling to that notion for the time being, anyhow.

"Excuse me," Lillie says, tapping Nate on the shoulder once they're within arm's reach.

Nate jumps about a mile.

"Hi," he squeaks. The poor kid's voice breaks on a dime these days and he's so damned embarrassed by it. "Hi," he repeats a little clearer. He's blushing tremendously, though, which is… intriguing. Is that because of Lillie? Is he actually paying attention to a woman with interest?

"I thought you might like to switch partners, dance with me for a bit," Lillie tells him. Her voice is sweet and a bit flirty. "How about it?"

Nate swallows hard, his Adam's Apple bobbing visibly as he turns absolutely fire engine red. His eyes going huge as they dart nervously to Will. It's so funny that Will has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"You, uh… you don't mind?" Nate asks.

The Will keeps a straight face is a minor miracle. Does he mind his thirteen year old baby brother dancing with his not-a-girlfriend date? No. Not even a little. Not even knowing with absolute certainty that Nate's thoughts about the woman in question are definitely not the chaste sort. He's thirteen. That's sort of expected at this point and, really, thank God, because at least it's something typical for a teenage boy. Nate's half child, half businessman and nothing in between most of the time. But now… right now, he's a gangly teenage boy trying really hard not to stare at his older brother's date's clingy dress.

"I'd appreciate it, actually," Will tells him. "I'd like to dance with Ellie, but it would be rude to leave Lillie alone." Again. Thankfully Lil has the grace not to point that out.

Ellie's clearly pleased with this notion, letting go of Nate and sidling up next to Will. She's sort of crazy cute. Her dress is bright and colorful, just like her. Whatever heartbreak she'd endured in getting turned down for a date tonight, it's nowhere to be seen now. Will suspects that has more to do with Sara and her family showing up than it does any fading bruised feelings, but that's a delicate thing to address with Ellie. She has always, always been in love with her best friend. He's glad to hear that she's moved on a little from that - that she's at least shown an interest in another girl, even if it went poorly - but he's also concerned that it's all surface level.

Because he's seen the way she lights up when Sara walks in the room. There's no pretending that her feelings have waned at all for her best friend.

"I… would be honored," Nate says finally, dipping his head a little in a respectful bow to Lillie as he offers her his hand.

"You Queen boys are so gallant," Lillie smiles, taking his hand.

"I, uh… I might step on your toes more than my brother does," Nate warns her nervously as he tries to sort out where exactly to put his hands. "He's kind of better at this than I am."

"Good!" Lillie says brightly, as she places his hands on her waist. "Then I get to help you practice. This'll be fun."

"That sounds… that sounds… really good," Nate says, nodding nervously and licking his lips. "Nice. It sounds nice. You're nice. And pretty. That dress is… very pretty. And so are you. In it."

Oh god, the boy has no game whatsoever. Will just kind of blinks at him wondering how the hell he inherited exactly none of their father's genes in this particular department. But Lillie, at least, takes it in stride. She plays it off like it's cute and she's flattered, which probably does wonders for Nate's ego as they shuffle somewhat awkwardly away across the dance floor.

"He's totally crushing on your girl, you know?" Ellie asks, taking hold of Will's elbow.

"She's not my girl," Will counters with a huff.

"Well, whatever," Ellie shrugs. "I mean, I can't fault him exactly. She's pretty smokin' hot, but he might short circuit and overload from a hormone rush or something."

"You think she's hot?" Will asks, because his brain absolutely stopped there. He and Ellie don't have this kind of conversation. As far he knows, Ellie doesn't have this kind of conversation with anyone. She's been pretty uncomfortable with discussing her sexuality.

Not now, though, and it throws Will for a loop when she blatantly looks Lillie up and down.

"Will, I'm pretty sure I'd think she was hot even if I was straight," she says finally.

That's… Okay, that's something Will's not sure how to process, but he'll figure it out. This was always coming, but at the same time he has not one, but two of his siblings pretty blatantly checking out his date and he's not sure what to do with that.

"Does it bother you?" Ellie asks. The nervousness he'd expected earlier has suddenly shifted to take over her face and he could absolute kick himself for not heading that off at the pass as much as he possibly could.

"Does it bother me that my two teenage siblings are both appreciating my date's… assets?" he asks, putting her hands on his shoulders and resting his fingers against her waist. "A little. I mean, that's kind of weird. But it's actually sort of cool to have you talking to me about girls."

"Yeah?" Ellie asks, scrunching up her nose. She could not be more adorable if she tried.

"Yeah," he says as they fall into step with the beat of the music. "I want you to know you can come to me about anything. I'm always gonna be here for you, Ellie. Doesn't matter if it's about girls or your parents or school or masks. I love you, kid. And I know I don't have any idea what you're dealing with here. I've never walked in your shoes, but I get that it's not easy. That just makes me want to be someone you can lean on more."

"Oh…" Ellie says softly, a pleased little flush working its way across her cheeks.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" Will asks, honestly concerned that maybe he's given her the wrong signals somehow.

"No," Ellie counters. "You've always been super cool about me being gay. You're kinda super cool about everything, really. It's just… it's weird to talk about, you know?"

"Would've been weird hearing you say you thought a guy was smokin' hot if you were straight too, you know," Will points out. "I am your brother."

"Fair enough," Ellie laughs.

It's quiet then for a second, but Will feels like he's on to something and he'd be a fool to let that go.

"So… how's school? Dad said there was a girl…" Will ventures. Ellie sighs heavily. "He also said not to bring it up, though. Did she turn out to be straight, or…?"

"What? No," Ellie scoffs. "Why does everyone think the only reason two lesbians won't date is that one of them is actually straight? My music teacher found out I was gay and immediately tried to give me her niece's phone number. Because obviously since we're both gay we must be a perfect couple? Come on… That's just dumb."

"Okay, that's fair," Will acknowledges. "And your music teacher needs to learn boundaries. But I honestly can't think of a reason anyone wouldn't date you. You're kind of incredible, Ellie. So that was sort of my only explanation."

"That's… flattering, Will, but no," Ellie advises with a wince that can only be described as self-deprecating.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Will ventures.

"I joined this club at school, right?" Ellie asks. She's visibly nervous about discussing this. "For queer kids. It's good. I mean, it's actually super helpful to be around other people like me who aren't all asking if I maybe just haven't met the right guy yet or something. I asked out this girl from the club. She's cute and we get along, but…"

"But?" Will asks after she doesn't finish.

"But she said she didn't want to play runner up to my best friend, okay?" Ellie asks defensively with a sigh.

"Oh…" Will says, his heart falling a bit on Ellie's behalf.

"Yeah," Ellie agrees. "'Oh' is right. I mean… it's not like she's wrong, but it's not something I can turn off, you know?"

"I know," he agrees, his sympathy wholly heartfelt.

"How have you dealt with it?" she asks.

"What?" he asks, jarred slightly. He damned near tramples her toes when he misses a step.

"You date a lot. You've had to get over someone you couldn't be with, right?" Ellie asks. She's all innocence, entirely looking for guidance, but she has no idea what she's asking. "You must have. How'd you do it?"

Entirely of their own volition, his eyes shoot past Ellie to where he knows Amelia is sitting. "I'm not the best person to ask that, Elle," he tells her.

"Why not?" Ellie scoffs.

"Because there's exactly two women who I've needed to get over," Will informs her. "The first left me in college. I didn't deal with it well."

"And the other?" Ellie asks. "How'd you get over her?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out," he say, turning back to her with a pained look. He can't help it, but it's strange to voice aloud. This is something he's kept to himself for years. Every time he's seen Amelia it's like something in the core of his being screams to connect with her, to make this work. But that's never materialized. It's ironic, given how often he has no problem at all getting a date. But when it's Amelia, when it matters… things just don't seem to go his way.

"She's here?" Ellie asks, looking around. Will knows she'll find her. There's only a handful of women in the direction he'd been glancing and Amelia is the only one anywhere near his age. But he's still not really prepared for his sister to call him out about it. "The brunette with grandma? The tall one?" Ellie asks, craning her neck to look in a painfully obvious way.

"Would you stop staring?" Will asks, laughing nervously. "Yes, okay. Yes."

"She's looking," Ellie says, smiling past him and giving a little wave to Amelia. Of course she does. Ellie hasn't listened to him in the least. He can't help following her gaze back to Amelia. She smiles back at Ellie before looking at him. Like before - like always - it's painfully loaded. For a moment, he completely forgets where he is, that he's dancing with Ellie, that anyone else is there. The room narrows down to the pull of her bright blue eyes and he fails to remember to breathe right up until Ellie mutters, "Holy shit, Will," snapping his attention back to her.

He blinks hard, trying to clear the image of Amelia staring back at him that's burned into the backs of his eyelids, and avoids Ellie's gaze.

"Why the hell aren't you here with her?" Ellie demands.

"Because we're nothing," Will tells her.

"Well, that's bullshit," Ellie says, calling him out. "Whatever that was I just saw was absolutely not 'nothing.'"

"That's all she'll let it be," Will says, feeling the truth of his own words weighing heavily on him.

"Have you asked her out?" Ellie asks.

"Yes," Will tells her. "Three times in the past three years. She's very nicely said no every time."

"That was not the look of a woman who wanted to say no," Ellie informs him, raising both of her eyebrows at him in challenge. "Have you asked lately?"

"She has a boyfriend, Ellie," he informs her. "In Central City where she's moving."

"Well that's just stupid!" Ellie declares. She's thoroughly incensed on his behalf and it's enough to make him smile, in spite of the conversation. It's also a firm reminder that - Amelia or not - Will already has everything he needs. His family is the core of what's important to him.

"I appreciate the loyalty," Will tells her, tapping her affectionately on the tip of her nose. "But, her choices are her own business. It sounds like a good career move and maybe she's really happy with this guy of hers. I don't know. Just because I wish I could change things, doesn't mean I get to."

"It's her loss," Ellie sniffs, chin held high. "She could not possibly do better than you."

"Thanks, kiddo," he says, kissing her on the forehead. "For what it's worth, I do get what it's like wanting to be with someone you can't have. I just can't tell you how to get past it. Not yet."

"I'll give you some tips if I figure it out first," Ellie sighs. He doesn't have to look to know she's watching Sara. "At least you know your girl is interested."

"Is that better or worse?" Will asks with a dry laugh.

"I honestly don't know," Ellie tells him.

"Me either," Will commiserates. "But you know what I do know?"

"What?" Ellie asks.

"That we'll be just fine," he tells her.

"And how do you know that?" Ellie questions.

"Because we have each other," he points out. "That's more important than anything else."

"Yeah," Ellie agrees with a lopsided grin before pressing up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Having each other is more important. Especially since it means we have someone to run interference for each other."

"Ellie, what-" he starts as she steps back. She's entirely mischief all of a sudden, a secret smile crinkling the edges of her eyes.

"Keep up," she tells him, turning on her heel and heading over to her grandmother's table. He's surprised enough that he nearly trips over his own feet in an attempt to do just that. But the sight of his little sister making a bee-line for their grandmother - for Amelia - is more than enough to spur him to action.

That doesn't mean he's close enough to stop her, though.

"Hey!" Ellie says as she reaches the table. Will's still a few feet behind but closes in quickly. "How's it going, Grandma?"

"Fine, Ellie," Moira Queen pronounces, folding her hands primly in front of herself. The look on her face is shrewd, like she's fully aware her granddaughter is up to something. "You look lovely tonight... Hello, William."

"Grandmother," he greets with a tight smile.

"Did Grandpa Walter not come?" Ellie asks, looking around the room.

"No," Moira counters. "He had business in London this week. It was unavoidable, I'm afraid."

"Bummer," Ellie says, nodding. "That's too bad. I'm sure you'd rather be dancing with him."

"Oh, child," Moira chuckles. "My dancing days are all behind me. But that's fine. I'm enjoying the gala all the same."

"Sure, well, you've got company," Ellie notes, sticking her hand out toward Amelia with a blinding grin. "Hi, I'm Ellie Queen."

This was, of course, the entire point of Ellie coming over. She'd had no real desire to hang out with her grandmother and Will knows that. Moira probably does, too. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if Amelia did.

"Amelia Prescott," the brunette counters, shaking Ellie's hand. "It's nice to meet you finally. I've heard a lot about you from your grandmother over the years."

"Did you work for her?" Ellie asks. She's all wide-eyed with fake innocence - like she doesn't already know, like Nate wouldn't have told her at some point.

"Yes," Amelia confirms. She's talking to Ellie, but she can't keep her eyes off of Will.

"Oh, so that's probably how you know Will then, too," Ellie says, plopping down into the seat next to Amelia and resting her chin on her palm. "I bet you two would like to catch up. With Grandma retired now, it's probably been awhile since you've seen each other."

"Elizabeth," Moira says sharply.

"It's okay, Grandma," Ellie says, smiling and literally batting her eyelashes at her grandmother. "I'll keep you company while they go dance. I wanted to pick your brain, anyhow. What do you think of community college?"

Will tries not to laugh, but has to turn his head away instead. Ellie has every intention of going to Starling City University and he knows it. But their grandmother can be a tremendous snob and, somewhat predictably, she bristles at the notion of her granddaughter passing up a four-year university.

"You've already applied to SCU," her grandmother notes sharply. "I thought this was settled, Elizabeth." Her tone brokers no doubt that she believes it should be.

"Yeah," Ellie sighs, "I know. But I'm just thinking about options. Maybe I'll take a year off and travel first. What do you think of hostels, Grandma?" The tight look of annoyance on their grandmother's face and the force with which she grits her teeth is the funniest thing Will Queen has seen in a very long time. "You two should go dance," Ellie says abruptly, looking to Will and Amelia in turn. "This might take a while."

"Elizabeth Dearden Queen," Moira says in a low breath, shaking her head.

"It's totally rude of me to drag her into this conversation," Ellie notes, grinning toothily. No one there has any doubt whatsoever what she's doing, but that doesn't mean it's not going to work.

"I did promise you a dance," Will murmurs, offering his hand to Amelia. She only hesitates a second before placing her fingers in his.

"You did," she agrees quietly as he helps her up. He doesn't back up as she stands and it puts them in closer proximity than it should, close enough to make people talk and to make his grandmother huff in distaste. But he doesn't give a damn that it's borderline inappropriate. The heat of her body washes over him and, when he breathes in, the scent of her perfume makes him dizzy. He'll take that over propriety any day… especially because she makes no move to back off, either.

"So, dance with me, Amelia?" he asks.

His voice is soft and heavy, his face utterly serious for once, and there's no doubt that he's asking for more than a dance, but he'll take whatever she's willing to give.

"For a song or two," she agrees, letting him lead her to the dance floor as Ellie cuts off whatever her grandmother had been about to say. It all fades to background noise anyhow. Everything but Amelia melts away.

She's tall enough that they're near nose-to-nose when she wraps her arms around his neck. Her fingers rest just above the collar of his jacket and he has to bite back a moan at the shock of feeling that races across the skin of his neck at her touch.

"Amelia," he breathes out. His voice is shaky as hell and she inhales sharply. He's holding her closer than he should. It's considerably more intimate than two acquaintances sharing a meaningless dance. His hand is splayed wide against the small of her back, keeping her close as her thumb strokes just beneath the hairline at the nape of his neck. Her chest brushes against the front of his tux with every uneven breath.

"I don't know how you do this to me," she says quietly after a moment. It sends a rush of excitement surging through his veins and he locks eyes with her to the exclusion of absolutely everything else in the room. "What do you want from me, Will?"

"You already know the answer to that," he tells her. She does. That much is obvious when she licks her lips and looks down briefly, avoiding his gaze.

"We can't work," she says after a moment, looking back up at him. There's no hiding the regret living in her eyes, though, and when he brings one hand up to stroke the side of her face, her eyes slam shut and she bites her lower lip in a failed attempt to keep in a moan.

It's the best sound he's ever heard.

"You know that's not true," he tells her, unwilling to let her hide behind that excuse. "That's why you said I'm dangerous. Because we could work. Because we would."

Her eyes practically beg him to let her keep her illusions. Bright blue and so pained, he has to imagine his look much the same. There's a longing and a sense of desperation that live in her gaze and he knows it lives in his, too.

"I'm moving," she reminds him. "I'm with someone."

"You don't have to be," he points out. Her eyes go wide and he swears he can feel her pulse speed up. "Tell him you need space. Tell him you need a break to clear your head. Give this a chance. Give us a shot."

"This… this is why you're dangerous, Will," she points out. Her voice trembles and that alone feels like a small victory.

"Because I want you and I'm not willing to hide it?" he asks.

"Because you make it sound so reasonable," she corrects.

"It is reasonable," he tells her. His nose brushes against hers and she melts a little further against him. Suddenly her hand is gripping against the collar of his jacket like she needs a hold on him to keep standing. "But reason has nothing to do with it. This is entirely feeling… Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you don't feel this, too. Tell me it's just me."

"I can't," Amelia admits. "You know I can't. But that doesn't make it right."

"Every single thing about this is right," he counters. "All of it."

"I'm pretty sure Thad would disagree with you there," Amelia points out.

"Thad?" he asks.

"Yes," she agrees.

"Your boyfriend's name is Thad?" He doesn't even bother trying to sound respectful.

"It's not like he picked it," Amelia scoffs. She's tensed a bit and he's already regretting this entire line of conversation, but he's also just a little too petty, just a little too juvenile to let it go.

"Still," Will continues, pulling a face. "Who the hell names their kid Thad. The only one I've ever even heard of is Thad DeWolfe the Third from the state senate."

"That… would be him," Amelia says slowly.

For a moment, Will forgets that they're supposed to be dancing. He just freezes in place, his arms around Amelia as her hands slip down to rest on his shoulders. They're a more socially acceptable distance apart now and he hates it.

"You're dating Thad DeWolfe the Third?" Will asks blankly, because this just… this is all wrong.

"I usually just call him Thad," Amelia replies dryly.

"He's about to be Senate Majority Leader," Will says. Like this is news to her, like he's the one informing her of this fact.

"He is," Amelia agrees.

"What the hell are you doing with Thad DeWolfe the Third?" he asks. He honestly can't make sense of this.

"Would you stop calling him by his whole name?" Amelia asks testily.

"Sorry," he says, his voice wholly devoid of any sort of inflection that might indicate he means it. "It's just always how I've thought of him, on the rare occasion that I've thought of him."

"He's a good man," Amelia says, sounding defensive and edgy. "We've been together almost a year. He's ambitious and dedicated to his work-"

"Are you reciting his resume to me right now?" Will interrupts.

"He loves me," Amelia says sharply. "Is that what you need to hear?"

"No," Will tells her a bit more soberly. "No, because I don't give a shit about Thad DeWolfe the Third and how he feels. I care about you. So you tell me, Amelia. Tell me that whatever you have with him is completely fulfilling, that it's everything you want. Tell me it's worth giving up exploring whatever this is between us."

She doesn't answer right away and he knows he's got a shot.

"When you dance with him, do you hold on like you're afraid he'll let you go? Or is that just with me?"

"Don't do this," she says.

It doesn't escape him that it's not an answer.

"I think that what you have with him is fine. I think it's completely… unobjectionable," Will tells her. If her eyes water a bit at his words and she flinches slightly, he's equal parts sorry for that and happy about it. "I think it's ordinary. And I think you deserve better than that."

She starts to pull away at that, but he holds her closer and she gives in almost immediately, gripping the shoulders of his suit jacket instead.

But her words don't hold on like the rest of her does.

"I'm not the risk-taker that you are, Will." She sounds almost mournful about it. "I know what I want from my life. I know who am I and where I'm going."

"And I don't fit in your five-year-plan?" Will asks.

"You've never fit in my plans," she replies. "That's always been the problem. You're… you're wild and playful and gorgeous and unexpected. I'm a practical person. I don't make decisions based on emotion. I don't choose things just because I want them."

"Then you'll never get what you want," Will notes astutely. "Playing it safe is simple. It's easy. But you're going to miss out on so much that way."

Her eyes practically caress his face as she slips one hand up the side of his neck to cup his face. Her thumb traces the back edge of jaw and his eyes slam shut instinctively, the feel of her fingers against him overwhelming his senses entirely. He's so very weak where she's concerned.

"I wish I were like you," she whispers. "I wish I could just… do things on a whim. I wish I were spontaneous. But I'm not."

She goes to let go of his face and knows immediately that that's not the only thing she's letting go of. His reaction is more instinct than anything else, one of his hands lets go of her waist to hold her fingers against his cheek.

"Not yet," he requests. "Just… dance with me another song. Just a little longer."

Pretending this is more, that it's going anywhere, is utterly foolhardy at this point. He knows full well that she wants it to as much as he does, but he also knows she's not going to allow that to happen. Still… he can't help wanting to make the moment last, wanting to savor the illusion that this is more than just a moment, more than just a dance.

Because, God, it could be so much more.

Her hand relaxes under his and he feels like he can breathe again.

"One more song," she agrees. He lets go of her fingers and they settle back against his neck as his hand falls to her waist. If he's holding her closer than he should, he tries not to think about the fact that it's probably the only time he ever will and he doesn't give a damn that anyone else is there to see it.

It's addictive, pretending that this thing between them is more than it really is. But, he's pretty sure he's not the only one living the lie at the moment, when she dips her head so that it's nearly resting on his shoulder and her fingers feather through the hair at the nape of his neck. A sigh of utter contentment rushes across the skin of his neck and he shudders at the rightness of it all.

He could get used to this so very easily. He could start to need it, if he wasn't careful.

Will has never been in love, not really, but he can't help but wonder if this is what it feels like.

That thought slices through him with something close to fear, because he can't allow that. He can't fall in love with anyone, but definitely not with Amelia… Amelia who is moving to Central City, Amelia who's going back to her boyfriend with the big important job, Amelia who might as well run off leaving a glass slipper behind when the night ends. He has to force some kind of normalcy into this moment, for the sake of his own self preservation, if nothing else.

"Did you see the guy by the bar?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"Hm?" Amelia asks, tilting her head up to look at him. Her eyes are all glazed and dreamy and his resolve falters for a second. But only for a second.

"The assassin," he says, with a little head tilt. "He keeps adjusting his belt buckle because he's got a poisoned dart in it. He was hired to go after the guy near that potted plant in the corner. He's an inventor whose work was stolen by a secret government agency and they're looking to take him out before he goes public about the theft."

"Oh," Amelia says, her eyes going wide and a smile gracing her lips as she takes in the scene with excited eyes, picking up easily on his little game. "That would be interesting, but you're wrong."

"Am I?" Will asks in blatant amusement. "What is it you see, then?"

"Well, he's Bratva, of course," Amelia muses, cocking her head to the side as she watches the man at the bar.

"Is he?" Will asks. He can't possibly hope to contain the grin on his face as she plays along. And, God, she does it so well. "How do you figure that?"

"He's very Russian," Amelia confides. "And he keeps scratching at his arm. Don't they have tattoos? It's fresh. He's new to the family."

"The brotherhood," Will corrects as he beams at her. "And the tattoos usually go on their chests, but maybe he's got too much scar tissue for that so they had to put it elsewhere."

"Sure," Amelia agrees. "That's how he got in. He proved himself after being kidnapped by the Irish mob. He didn't talk even after they tortured him for days."

"So, why's he after the guy in the corner?" Will asks. He feels like he could live off of the sight of her delighted face alone.

"That's the Arrow," Amelia tells him with tremendous certainty. Will barks out a laugh in reply. "The mobster figured out his secret identity and now he's resolved to take him out when he's unawares, make a name for himself in the Bratva and move up the ranks that way. Of course, it helps that he's secretly having an affair with the Arrow's lover. So, he has extra motivation to get him out of the way."

"Isn't he a bit… portly to be the Arrow?" Will asks, glancing at the guy who he's pretty sure is actually the new district attorney. He's probably in his mid-sixties, balding and looks like he never met a donut he didn't like. He could not look less like Will's dad if he tried and he's sort of wondering how Amelia's going to rationalize the discrepancy away.

"Well it wouldn't be a very good disguise if he was an absurdly buff guy in his 40s, would it?" Amelia scoffs. "Really, Will. Secret identities only work if you can't figure them out."

His heart utterly flips in his chest at her words. He really had thought he couldn't be entranced by her more.

"God, you're perfect," he breathes out without even thinking about it. "You're just… I wish I could kiss you right now."

All traces of playfulness are gone when she looks back at him with those wide blue eyes that feel like they can make him melt under the strength of their gaze.

"Part of me wishes you could, too," she admits quietly. "But we can't, Will. I won't."

"I know," he agrees softly as he forces himself to let her go. The song's changing and if he doesn't walk away from her now, he's not sure he ever will. "I know. But if things don't work out… if you ever change your mind or want to try being spontaneous and irrational…."

"I know where to find you," she agrees, stepping back. "I wish I could say that would happen. I wish…"

"Me too," Will says, cutting her off. Because the specifics don't matter. He wishes it all the same.

"Maybe in our next lives," she offers with a thin smile. "Maybe that'll be our second chance."

"Maybe," he agrees. "Or maybe that's what this was."

"Yeah…" she says, her face falling. "I'm gonna go. I think… I think I have to leave."

"If that's what you need," he replies.

"It is," she confirms. "But I… I hope you…"

"Don't," Will cuts her off, pausing to clear his throat. It's a cover for how brutally her words are hitting him, but it's not a very good one. "Don't say goodbye. Don't wish me well and tell me you hope I find someone and have a happy life. I can't take that. Not from you."

"Okay," she says dimly. "Then I'll just say 'until next time, Will Queen.'"

"Until next time," he echoes.

For a second, he thinks she's going to kiss him on the cheek, but in the end she just turns and walks away, arms wrapped around her middle like she's trying to keep something in, like she's physically holding herself together. He watches her go. To the table. To grab her purse. To make a hasty excuse to his grandmother. To the door to leave.

All without looking back at him. It hurts so much more than it should, leaves him hollowed and heartsick. He wants… he wants to run after her, wants to grab her wrist and pull her in, kiss her beneath the streetlight with so much feeling that it makes her knees give out and her resolve crumble. He wants it so much that his fingers ache for the feel of her skin and his body seems cold without the heat of her pressed against him. But what she wants matters more and he'll respect her choice even if it's quietly killing him.

That doesn't mean it's not the only thing he can think about, though, and he's so caught up in his own longing that he misses the person joining him at his side.

"So," a familiar voice says. "I'm thinking I ran into you with the wrong date." Will jolts, glancing down to find his Aunt Thea has wheeled up to his side. The look on her face is more curious and more insightful than he's ready for. "Why, exactly, aren't you going after that girl?"

"She doesn't want me to," Will advises, feeling the truth of those words keenly.

"That was not the look of a woman who wanted to be let go," Thea informs him. She says it slowly, like she's talking to a small child who might not quite understand what she's saying.

Normally, Will adores his Aunt Thea. She's fun and sassy. Their senses of humor line up more often than not. But right now… right now nothing seems very funny.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Thea, I just need a minute," he apologizes. He slips his fists into his pant pockets and looks back to the door Amelia disappeared through. Could he still catch her? Is she in a cab yet? If he hurried, would there be a chance?

"Will…" Thea ventures. He can practically hear her attention honing in on him more and his eyes slam shut as his brow furrows because he can't handle this right now. "What ha-"

"Thea."

Will's never been quite so glad to hear his dad's voice before.

"Hey, Ollie," she replies.

"Roy was looking for you," he informs her. "He was chatting with the executive director for Starling City Children's Care and they had some ideas about how the Queen Foundation could partner with them on a new project."

"Where?" Thea asks immediately, snapping to attention. The Foundation is her baby, her legacy. It has been for the last decade. Privately, Will thinks it's her drive to keep making a difference that keeps her going these days, and SCCC is one of her very favorite organizations to work with.

His father's words are probably true, but Will knows the reason he came over when he did was to give him an escape route. And, if he hadn't known that before, he would have the moment his dad looks at him with a sad, sympathetic smile.

Honestly, Will's so grateful to his dad right now that it's kind of astounding. But he still can't force more than the thinnest smile possible in return as his father leads Thea across the room.

Any attempt at pretenses falls away as they leave and Will finds himself heading toward an empty space at the bar without even thinking about it.

"Whisky neat, please," he calls out to the bartender.

"Make that two," his stepmother says, hopping up onto the stool next to him without so much as a 'hello.'

Half of him wants to ask her to please leave him alone, but the rest of him knows that nothing helps a bruised heart quite like a mom and Felicity's the closest thing he has left. So, in the end, he says nothing. At least, not until after he has his drink in hand and takes a healthy swig. His stepmom follows suit, coughing violently and her eyes watering up as she tries to copy him. Red wine aside, she's never been much of a drinker.

"Can she get a glass of water too, please?" Will asks the bartender.

"Thanks," Felicity says, putting her glass down.

"No problem," Will tells her as she takes the water from the bartender and sips some. "So… are you here because you had a sudden, newfound desire for whisky, or…?"

"I'm here because your thirteen-year-old brother is a surprising choice for a wingman," Felicity tells him. Her gaze is as sharp as her words and he finds himself wincing under the piercing nature of both. "You're lucky he's taller than your date. I think she missed most of that dance, but your brother's pretty pissed off on her behalf."

"Where is he?" Will asks, skimming the room. Upsetting his brother was not part of his plan… or wouldn't have been, had he actually had one.

"Other side of the dance floor," his stepmom tells him, nodding toward the far side of the room. "Lillie's trying to teach him the chicken dance."

Well that's an image. Sure enough, his date is laughing and trying to encourage Nate to dance the most ridiculous moves in history along with her. Nate looks equal parts embarrassed and flattered by her continued attention. But Will also can't kid himself that Nate's gonna be happy with him. He won't understand what happened. He can't yet. He's too young for that.

"It really wasn't my intention," Will tells his stepmother, as if that makes everything better. It doesn't. He knows it. Intended or not, any fallout from this falls squarely on his shoulders.

"I know," she agrees. "It just surprised me. That's all… Not as much as finding out you're in love with someone did, though."

Will's hand grips his glass so hard his fingers slip and he stares down at the amber liquid for a moment before looking back to Felicity. "You think I'm in love with her because we flirted and danced together?"

"No, Will," she counters. She looks at him like she sees right through him, like she has him all figured out. Maybe she does. "I think you're in love with her because you let her walk away even though it looked like she was taking a piece of you with her." She stops a moment, but Will says nothing because it's not like she's wrong. "The last time a man looked at me like that, I married him."

He breathes out, a slow, steady rush of air through thinned lips, because the thoughts that statement gives him… He lets that slip away, doesn't even think about it as he downs the rest of his glass, and he doesn't look back at Felicity.

"You okay?" she asks softly.

"No," he admits with painful candor. "I'm not."

There's really not much she can say to make him feel better, but the way she rubs his back helps a little. It reminds him of the time he was nine and caught pneumonia while his mom was on a business trip. Felicity had just taken over QI, but she still took the whole week off of work to feed him canned soup and let him sleep curled up on her lap.

"I'm sorry, honey," she says, kissing his shoulder. "I wish I could fix things for you."'

He hefts a huge sigh and wraps an arm around her. "Me, too," he agrees. "It'll be okay, though. I'll be okay. I have you guys. That's all I need."

"If I'd known, I never would have pushed so hard with Lillie," Felicity tells him. "I sort of thought it meant something that you'd brought her, even if Thea kind of forced your hand there."

"She's… Lillie's nice," Will says. "I like spending time with her."

"But she's not Amelia," his stepmom notes.

"No," he agrees distantly. "She's not Amelia."

"Does she know that?" Felicity asks.

"She should," he replies, a little thrown by the question. "I've made it very clear that I'm not looking for more than casual."

"Well… I mean, that's a lie," Felicity scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. She isn't buying that for a moment. "Clearly. But I'm just saying, you bring a girl to a black tie event and introduce her to your whole family, she might start to get other ideas. It's probably a good plan to make sure you're still on the same page. Or, you know, now that you're well aware you're lying to yourself about not wanting a meaningful relationship, maybe it's a good idea to give it a real shot and see where this thing with her goes."

Her words surprise him and he finds himself looking back toward where Lillie has moved on to showing Nate how to do the Macarena. She's sweet. She's beautiful and sexy and smart. He has fun with her. But there's nothing about their relationship that makes him long for more.

"I think it's already gone everywhere it's going," he says. If he sounds a little sad about that, it's because he is. It would be so much easier if he were just in love with Lillie. "That's okay, though. Anything more right now would just feel…"

"Wrong?" Felicity asks. "Like a replacement for Amelia?"

"Something like that," Will agrees. His chemistry with Amelia has been utterly off the charts from the very beginning. Will knows without a doubt that that kind of thing is rare and it can't be forced. There's no 'replacing' that and it would be unfair to Lillie to try.

"Okay," his stepmother agrees easily. "But keep in mind Amelia isn't the only woman in the world. You never know when the right woman is gonna walk into your life."

'She already did,' sits on the tip of his tongue, but he just smiles back at her instead. The look on his face must telegraph his thoughts because the sympathy practically pours off of her as she slips off her barstool and kisses his cheek.

"You're a good man, kiddo," she tells him and he finds himself leaning into her touch.

"Well, you're a good mom, Felicity," he counters.

She pulls back in surprise. That's not a thing he's ever said to her before - not like that - and he's clearly startled her.

"Will… sweetie, you had a mom," she says. Her voice is cautious, guarded, but he's got no questions in his mind about this and he's at peace with what he meant. "Just because she's gone doesn't change that."

"I know," Will smiles. "I'm a lucky guy. I had two amazing moms. I didn't tell one of them that frequently enough when I had the chance. I'm not gonna make that mistake again."

Felicity hugs him so hard it feels like she's crushing his lungs, but he welcomes it. He has always been incredibly aware of how lucky he is to have her in his life, to have all of his family. And losing his mom pulled that into sharp relief.

A few barstools away, Lillie eases onto a seat and smiles at him with a happy, breathless little grin. She's been dancing for a while and it shows, her cheeks flushed and her skin a little dewy. Nate's next to her, sipping on a coke, alternating between staring somewhat adoringly at Lillie and giving Will annoyed looks.

So… yeah, that's gonna be a fun conversation later.

"Hey," Will says. Felicity backs away slightly as he speaks, turning to follow his line of sight. "Looked like you two were having fun out there."

"We were," Lillie tells him brightly. "Did you have a good time dancing with your sister?"

"I… did," he agrees slowly, having momentarily forgotten he'd even danced with Ellie. His gaze shifts over to Nate. "Thanks for filling in for me, Bud."

Nate works his jaw back and forth tensely. There's clearly something he wants to say, but his mother clears her throat and instead Nate grits out a tight, "Happy to. Lillie's wonderful."

The last part is said like a pointed reminder and Will gets the message loud and clear.

"She is," he agrees. "Dance with me a bit more, Lil?"

"I think I have a few more trips around the dance floor left in me," she says, slipping off the barstool and heading his way. Felicity steps away to make room for her and Will takes his date's hand in his and leads her back out to the dance floor, pulling her into his arms and falling in step with the tune effortlessly.

It is painfully lacking something after having danced with Amelia, after having her cling to him as he relished the feel of her body pressed against his. But, it's still a woman in his arms. There's something comforting about that, the familiarity of it and he suddenly feels so very weak.

She's nothing like Amelia, not in personality or physically, but when he closes his eyes and just holds onto her it feels like an echo of before. He tries to refocus on her, to pay attention to the moment, but his mind lingers in the recent past and he can't help it.

They dance another half a dozen songs before leaving and when he takes Lillie home he tries so very hard to make it like it was a week ago, a month ago, even a few hours ago. He's usually so good at this, at savoring the experience of being with any woman, but tonight he's off his game and he knows it. He still slips the strap of her dress off slowly, still unhurriedly runs his lips along the slope of her shoulder. But instead of relishing the feel of her soft skin beneath his tongue, he thinks back to Amelia's strapless dress and the smattering of freckles along her collarbone. Lillie can't read his thoughts, of course, and she whimpers in a lovely way when he shuts his eyes against the imaginary image and pulls her back against him more tightly.

Sex with Lillie should help. He'd told himself it would, that the familiarity of it would click everything into place, that it would be an escape, but it doesn't work out like that.

He tries, though.

She's a beautiful picture. That much is undeniable. Her hair loose and one breast fully exposed, the dress half off as he kisses her neck and slips his hand between her thighs, the pair of them standing in front of a mirror in his bedroom. It's gorgeous. She's gorgeous. And he tries so very hard for that to mean something, or at least not to realize how much more it could mean.

The first time she comes, it's around his fingers, knees shaking and body leaning back against him as she cries out his name. He hates that he wishes her voice were just a little lower, just a little rougher, that he wishes she were taller with darker hair, with bigger breasts and smaller hips. But, god help him, he does. He decides maybe he's just not trying hard enough, that what he needs is to focus more or maybe to lose himself in her. After all, what he really wants isn't an option, so he needs this, needs something to work, because the alternative is entirely too depressing to consider.

Eventually, he fucks her from behind while she's on her hands and knees. He watches her breasts bouncing in the mirror with every thrust, her necklace swaying steadily between them. It's erotic as hell and it should be intensely satisfying - it definitely seems to be for her - but for him it feels like a puzzle missing a piece. Her pleasure is still enjoyable to watch. The way she crests again and loses all sense of rhythm as her warm embrace clenches around him.

It's only after she comes that second time that he really lets himself go. He is weak. He is so weak in this moment and when he closes his eyes and presses his face into the back of her neck, it's a simple thing for his fantasies to take flight.

For one hot, blinding moment, it is absolutely not Lillie beneath him - not in his mind anyhow - and just the notion of that, just the hint of a fantasy of it, absolutely overwhelms him.

"Oh God," he says. "Oh fuck." It comes out more as a whimper than anything else. One of her hands laces its fingers with his against the edge of the mattress. His other hand grips her hip tightly as he pistons in and out of her with a fast-surging need.

It doesn't take long for him to come, not with the images playing out in his head, not with the illusion that it's Amelia beneath him instead. And, it's easily the most powerful orgasm of his life thus far. His vision whites out and he damned near collapses atop Lillie. It feels like he comes for a solid minute, emptying himself into the condom with enough force that he's both amazed and insanely grateful that the little sheath of plastic holds out.

It still takes a moment for him to gather himself together enough to pull back from Lillie. Partly because his body is so very spent and partly because looking at her will ruin his illusions and that means facing some rather harsh truths.

"You okay?" he asks when he finally slips out of her and leans back on his heels. "Sorry if I crushed you."

"Maybe a little," she admits, sitting up and turning to face him. "But that's fine."

She deserves so much better than this, he thinks.

He's a little startled when his next thought is that so does he.

"This was great," Lillie says, slipping off the bed and grabbing her dress. "But I think we need to call it."

"Yeah," Will agrees, resting his weight on his palms behind him. "You work tomorrow, right?"

"I do," she says hesitantly, casting him a sideways glance as she pulls the dress over her head and makes a grab for her underwear. The look on her face is strange, though, and it takes him a moment for it to click what she's really saying. "But that's not what I meant."

Oh.

Oh...

"You're ending things," he realizes aloud.

"I am," she agrees, pausing to look at him. There are traces of regret and affection all over her face, which leaves him wondering why exactly she's doing this. The confusion must show because she shakes her head a little and walks over to him, cupping his face. "Will, you are a wonderful guy and if you tell me anything about tonight was about me, I'll stick around and we can see where this goes, but I think we both know it wasn't."

He swallows hard and says nothing, which is an answer unto itself.

"The problem is," she starts, "if we keep doing this, I'm gonna fall in love with you. I can see it happening so easily. But I don't think you can love me back. That's okay. That wasn't what this was ever supposed to be. But I'd rather cut ties now than go down that road when I know it's leading nowhere."

He nods, her hands still pressed against his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he tells her earnestly. "You're right and you deserve better than what I can give you."

"I know," she smiles, kissing his forehead one last time before stepping back. "And I'll find it. I'd say you will too, but I'm pretty sure you already have, even if you two aren't on the same page yet."

There's no point in playing coy and he doesn't try. They both know she's talking about Amelia and he won't do her the disservice of pretending she's wrong.

"I don't think we'll get on the same page," he replies. "She's moving. She's with someone else. It's not… we're not anything. We've never been anything."

Lillie is maybe the worst person to talk to about this, but Will can't help himself. But, she affirms herself as a wonderful person, someone he really wishes he could scrounge up deeper feelings for, when she winces sympathetically and says, "I'm sorry. That sucks."

"Yeah," he agrees, pulling a pillow over his lap. He feels a little too exposed all of a sudden.

"Maybe it won't be her then," Lillie admits. "But it's not gonna be me either. There are a lot of women out there, Will. And you're a charming, handsome, wonderful man. I have no doubt that you'll find someone to connect with that makes your head spin and lights up your whole life. But since that's not me… I'm gonna head out."

"Take care of yourself, Lillie," he tells her.

"I will," she smiles. "You, too. I'll see you around, Will."

With that, she turns and walks away, shoes in her hand and door clicking shut behind her as she goes. Will flops back against the bed and draws an arm across his face. There's a sinking feeling in his gut and an ache of sorrow living in his chest, but it has nothing at all to do with the woman who just walked out of his life and everything to do with the one who's refused to be a part of it.

He manages to make himself get up so he can clean off, busies himself with taking a quick shower and changing his sheets. But once he's done, he just sits, just feels… empty. And he knows full well that he can't fix it.

But that doesn't mean there aren't ways to fill the cracks.

He grabs his phone and pops off a few quick texts. He thanks Nate for being a stand-up guy and suggests they hang out next weekend. He apologizes to Jules for sort of going off the handle about her boyfriend and says if they want help apartment hunting, he knows a guy who can help. He reminds Ellie he loves her and swears he'll be at her volleyball game this week. He wants to call Bethy, to hear her sweet, happy little voice, but it's late and she'd be asleep by now. So, instead he sends a message to Felicity.

"You were right."

He hesitates before sending it, but hits the button in spite of knowing it's a questionable choice of words and he'll probably regret it later.

"As much as I'm always a fan of hearing that, especially from one of my boys, I might need a little clarity on what I was right about this time," comes back a moment later.

He swallows hard and stares at the phone in his hand. A lot of him doesn't want to talk about it, but he'd been the one to bring it up, he'd been the one to start this, and a part of him needs to have this conversation.

"Amelia. How i feel abt her. How it felt when she walked away again."

There's no pause before he hits send this time because if he waits he probably won't send it at all. Instead he just watches the screen of his phone, waiting for the reply that he knows is going to come.

"I know," she says. "You okay? Did you want me to come over? Did you need your dad? Or maybe Jules?"

What he needs is Amelia. He needs to rewind his night - or maybe the last five years - to do it all again.

"No," he counters, which sort of answers all of her questions at once. "It's okay. Thank dad for distracting aunt thea for me, plz. I'll call him tomorrow. Just… i don't know what to do, felicity. Tell me what to do?"

God he feels like a kid again asking her that, like a little boy looking for guidance, but he's lost right now and he doesn't know which direction to go.

She types and deletes her response a few times and what eventually comes through surprises him.

"Let yourself love her, Will."

He blinks at the phone and tries to figure out how to respond to that, but she's not done and her next text comes through just a moment later.

"Not for her sake, for yours. Let yourself feel it, even when it sucks. Let it hurt. Let it be real. Love isn't always easy, honey, and it doesn't always last. But you can't wish it away and pretending you don't feel this way about her doesn't do yourself any favors. It's okay to feel it. It's okay to mourn it. But don't bury it."

It's a weighty piece of advice and Will reads it more than once before replying with "yeah."

"If you need anything, call us," Felicity replies. "Even if it's just for me to bring over a good bottle of red, okay? No whisky though. I don't know how you can drink that. Do you enjoy breathing fire? Did you not like having an esophagus?"

She's trying to make him laugh and it works. He finds himself grinning and shaking his head at the phone.

"Ha ha," he says. "UR hilarious."

"I'm aware," she replies. "Dinner tomorrow?"

"Is dad cooking or do i need to bring fire suppression gear?" he asks.

"Now who's hilarious? Your dad's cooking, clearly. I don't need to remodel the kitchen."

"I'll be there," he tells her. "Mind if i bring bethy?"

"Of course not. Is she still vetoing all orange colored foods?"

"Nah, now it's red."

"Ah, the joys of a pre-schooler… You'll be okay, Will," she says. "I know it might not seem that way right now, but you'll be okay."

And he will. He knows that.

He just also knows he could be so much better.


	25. December 2014

**December 26, 2014**

'Things' don't mean a whole lot to Will. They never have. But, he's awfully pleased with his room at his dad's house. It's not that there's so much stuff in it, even though there really is. It's that his dad and Felicity obviously put so much thought into it.

There's a Lego Movie poster on the back of his door and a picture of him and his dad at a ballgame on the edge of his mirror. He's got Big Hero 6 sheets and a whole pirate ship play set of _Jake and the Neverland Pirates_. Now, that might just sound like a typical first-grade boy's room, but it's not to Will. It's a reminder that Felicity took him to see the Lego Movie when his dad got stuck at work and that his dad got season tickets to the Starling City Rockets just because he likes baseball. It's a reminder that his dad had stopped him from crying when he'd skinned his knee by quoting Baymax and asking 'On a scale of 1-to-10, how would you rate your pain?' Will had said zero, even though it hurt, because that's how the line goes. It's a reminder that he spent a solid month saying "aw, coconuts" at every opportunity, just like Jake's pirate friend Cubby, and they never once pointed out how annoying it was, even though Will's pretty sure it drove them nuts.

Will's room is a filled with evidence that he belongs here, that his dad and Felicity love him and welcome him as a part of their family. So, that's why he loves it. It's not all the 'stuff,' it's what all the stuff means.

Today there's an extra layer of excitement to it all, though. Because today he gets to _stay_ here. He gets to sleep in that bed for the very first time. And, while part of him is really super worried about being away from his mom all night long, a bigger part is just buzzing with anticipation at staying the whole weekend with his dad.

Until this past summer, his mom was his only family, but it's grown quickly this year. He's got his dad and Felicity and soon he'll have a baby sister. He's got kinda mixed feelings on that last one. He's excited to be a big brother - he's always wanted that - but he's also a bit worried that it'll change how his dad sees him.

He hasn't said that, though. Not to anyone. The idea of voicing it makes him too nervous.

But he doesn't need to worry, yet. Julianna is still more than a month away from being born, and Will has a super awesome weekend ahead of him _and_ a second Christmas with his dad. It sort of promises to be the best weekend ever.

He tosses his overnight bag in the corner of his room and sits on the edge of his bed, bouncing a bit on the mattress - because he can - and giggles when he flops backwards and looks up at the solar system model that decorates his ceiling. It's a nightlight, too. 'Cause his dad was worried he'd wake up and not know where he was, so now he's got the glow of the planets to remind him.

Will's not a hundred percent sure, but he strongly suspects he's got the best dad in the whole world. And he gets to spend _two whole days_ with him.

A little thrill of excitement runs through him at that and he grins up at Jupiter for a moment until his stomach rumbles loudly.

Snacktime seems to be most of the time, lately. His mom says he's in the middle of a growth spurt, which has Will checking his height against the marks on his doorframe back home on a daily basis. He swears there's a difference from a few days ago, but his mom had flattened his hair and told him otherwise. He's not buying it, though. He knows he's grown. Just like he knows he's hungry and Felicity totally bought him those yogurt push-up things his mom won't get because she says they're too messy.

There are _so_ many perks to being at his dad's house.

Will hops off the bed and scurries from his room, all inexhaustible childish energy. He barely pays attention as he slams his bedroom door behind him and bolts down the stairs, taking them two at a time and wondering if he'd get in trouble here for sliding down the railing like he does back home.

He might try that later. It's super fun, even if it does get him scolded pretty hard by his mom.

It would _probably_ be a good idea to just try it now. His dad had to go answer the door just a few minutes after his mom left and Felicity had gone up to her room for something. It's tempting. He's all alone, way less likely to get into trouble… But, no. He wants that yogurt and he wants it now.

Apparently Felicity couldn't remember what flavor he liked, because he opens the fridge to find pretty much all of them ever made. This is extra awesome because there's _Berry Bubblegum Bash_ which is a thing his mom says is gross and he doesn't need, but it's totally his favorite anyhow. He tears into the tube of yogurt and happily starts sucking it down when he hears his dad talking to whoever was at the door.

" _Mom, I don't know what made you think this would be a good idea."_

Grandma Moira, then, Will realizes. He's met his dad's mom twice and she's… she's weird. She's not like he thought grandmas were. She shook his hand instead of hugging him when they met and she just kind of stares at him like she can't figure something out. He's pretty sure his mom doesn't like her much, either. They barely spoke and when they did it was clipped and stiff like the way his mom had been with him after that parent-teacher conference last year when she'd found out he'd been ditching his homework assignments on the bus since October. So… super mad, is what he's thinking. She's super mad at his grandmother and he doesn't know why, but it's enough to make him a little nervous around her anyhow.

At least he has Felicity's mom. She sorta makes up for it because she's _all_ hugs. She squishes him and leaves lipstick smears on his face and sneaks him cookies with a wink and a finger to her lips urging silence. Grandma Donna's pretty awesome, even if she's not actually his grandma.

" _Of course it's a good idea, Oliver. He's my grandson_."

Oh… they're talking about _him_. Will freezes at that realization, yogurt in hand. He squeezes it tightly between his little fingers, but he's no longer drinking it down. What are they talking about?

" _You know_ exactly _what terms you can see him under and you know why,_ " his father counters sharply.

Will's brow furrows at that. He's got no idea what they're talking about, but it's enough to make him nervous. Had he done something? What did he do?

" _Don't be ridiculous, Oliver. These barriers you're putting up are completely pointless_."

" _The_ one thing _Samantha insisted on if he was going to be a part of my life is that he not see_ you _unless she's there, too. And you know what? I agree with her. So, no, Mom, the barriers aren't pointless at all. They're there to protect my family_."

His head spinning with all of this, Will takes a few hesitant steps toward the stairs and holds onto the railing before sitting on the bottom step and tucking his legs in close, making himself small as he listens in.

" _I am your family. And whatever you might think, everything I did, I did to protect you_."

" _You told me my son was_ dead!"

His dad's voice is so loud and so sharp that Will don't have to strain to hear it. He's never heard his dad yell before, never heard him really angry, but he definitely is now.

And he's not done.

" _You robbed me of knowing my son for years. And you'd have kept doing it if I hadn't found out on my own. This is my_ son _, my child, and he spent the first six years of his life without a dad because of_ you _."_

" _Yes,_ " his grandmother confirms. " _And he was better off for it. You weren't ready to be a father then, Oliver. That boy would have ruined your life."_

There's more yelling after that, voices increasingly loud and definitely angry on both sides, but Will can't make out the words because he's crying too hard to hear it. He doesn't feel like he's ruining his dad's life. He doesn't want to do that. He'd sort of thought everything was great, that his dad was happy. Is he not? Does his dad secretly wish he'd never met him? Would he be happier if it was just him and Felicity and their baby?

Will tucks himself into the tiniest ball he can manage, his tears soaking through the sleeves of his Super Why sweatshirt. Maybe he should go back home. Maybe he belongs with his mom. But what if he's ruining her life, too? What if he's just no good, if he doesn't belong anywhere? What if no one really wants him?

He's so heartsick that he's nauseous and he squeezes the yogurt in his hand hard enough that it gets all over the knee of his jeans. That just makes him cry harder because now he's made a mess and that already gets him a scolding from his mom. Will Felicity hate him for it? Will his dad?

"Will?"

He can't make himself look up at the sound of Felicity's voice. He just scoots closer to the wall, away from her and whimpers into his arms.

"Will, what's wrong?" Her voice sort of trails off at the end and he's pretty sure that's because his dad and his grandma are yelling loudly enough that she hears whatever they're saying.

He's not sure what he thought Felicity would do, but lowering herself down to the step he's on and pulling him into her arms isn't it. She's huge these days. Her baby takes up all the space where she'd have had a lap and there's no room for Will, but it seems like that's something Felicity refuses to accept because she holds him tighter than he could have imagined.

"I'm sorry, baby, you shouldn't have heard this. I'm so sorry. She's wrong, okay? She's wrong." It's whispered fiercely into his mop of hair and there's so much determination in her voice that he thinks maybe she actually means it. That just makes Will sob harder into her chest because maybe he doesn't even deserve this. Maybe she's just being nice.

Later, when he's older, he'll wonder how the hell she'd managed to both stand and pick him up. He's not _that_ big yet, but she is eight months pregnant and it has to be incredibly awkward. But she does it anyhow. He buries his face in her neck and clings to her because even though all of a sudden he's not sure he deserves to be comforted, he still needs it.

He's only dimly aware of them moving closer to the shouting in the living room, but he does register when his not-quite-stepmother speaks up because her voice is low and livid and it rumbles beneath his cheek.

"Get the hell out of my house," she snaps.

The yelling stops instantly and he can hear his father quietly say his name. It sounds concerned, but then maybe his dad just feels like that's his responsibility. Will clings to Felicity's neck, his fingers gripping the back of her maternity blouse so tightly that his knuckles hurt.

"He wasn't meant to hear any of that," Grandma Moira states. She sounds a little uneasy as she says it. "I didn't intend to-"

"I really don't care about your intentions, Moira," Felicity announces, cutting her off. "You hurt my little boy. _Again._ So you can get out, cool down and give us a call next week when I want to throttle you slightly less for doing this to him."

Will melts a little as he feels his dad's now-familiar arms lift him from Felicity and pull him close. It's so warm, so welcoming, and Will is so very terrified that it's not real, that it's been faked out of some sense of obligation, and that maybe it won't last.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry," he sobs out brokenly against his dad's shirt. "I didn't mean to ruin anything. I'm sorry."

"Mom, get out," his father says. It's softer than Felicity's voice had been, but no less firm and the click of heels along the wood floor a moment later gives way to the thunk of the front door shutting.

And then his father's attention is entirely on him. "She's wrong, Buddy. You didn't ruin anything. I promise. I love you so much, okay? We all love you. My life is so much better with you in it."

"Why's she hate me?" Will asks into his dad's collarbone, eyes pinched shut and his nose running on his dad's shirt. "What'd I do? I'll fix it. I'm sorry."

"Oh, god, Will… you didn't do anything," his dad says. His voice is so thick that Will thinks maybe he's crying, too. "Felicity… what do I…?"

"I don't know," she answers quietly. "I don't know. This is…" She sighs hugely and he hears the sofa creak under her weight as she plops down on it. His dad follows suit a moment later and Will winds up on his dad's lap, his head tucked under his father's chin while Felicity runs her fingers through his hair.

"Will, look at me, Buddy, please?" his dad asks.

It's hard, but he does. With a sniffle and a swipe of his nose along his sleeve, Will looks up to find his father looking back at him brokenly.

"Nobody hates you, Will," he vows. Will flinches because he's not sure how he can believe that right now. "Your Grandma Moira made a big mistake before you were born, okay? I… I wanted to wait until you were older for us to talk about this. I wanted to talk with your mom, first, but…"

"You don't have a choice now, Oliver," Felicity murmurs from his side. There's a whole silent conversation that goes on between the two of them and Will finds himself bracing for whatever's going to come next.

"Your mom and I… we were young when we found out she was pregnant with you and we didn't have the kind of relationship Felicity and I do," his dad says. It's all a bit broken, like he's not sure what he's supposed to be saying here, but that just makes Will listen harder. Grown-ups tend to be more honest when they haven't planned out what they're gonna say. "My mom thought I was too young to be a daddy. She thought I might miss out on too many parts of growing up if I had a baby. So she made some bad choices that kept us apart."

"She told you I _died_ ," Will supplies.

His dad doesn't want to agree. He can see that much, but there's also no arguing that point. Not after what he's heard.

"She did," he confirms. "She did tell me that and she made your mom go away so I wouldn't know that you hadn't."

" _None_ of this has anything to do with how we feel about you, Will," Felicity assures him. She's stroking his hair like a mom, like his mom, and looking at him like she'd give anything for him to believe her. He wants to. He loves them so very much and he's gotten painfully attached to this side of his life very quickly. "Your dad is so happy that you're his son. Even when you aren't here, we talk about you all the time. He's always showing off your picture to people and telling them stories about what you did together. And me? Will, you're an awesome kid with such a big heart. You didn't have to accept me in your life, but you _did_. Right from the very beginning, you did. You're not really my son. You're not even my stepson. But I can't imagine my life without you in it and I'm so happy that you've let me be a part of yours."

"But…" Will pauses, his eyes casting down. Felicity's baby bump is front and center, full-on proof right in front of him that they don't need _him_ to be parents. They'll have a baby of their own soon enough.

"But, what?" his father asks, wiping his thumbs beneath Will's eyes to clear away the tears.

Will clears his throat and looks up nervously. "But… you won't need me, soon. You'll have Julianna. Your _real_ kid, the one that belongs to the two of you and you get to have all the time."

Aw, damn, he's made Felicity cry. In truth, it's amazing it took this long. She cries a lot lately. His dad says the baby makes her do that sometimes, that it's something called 'hormones,' but Will's never seen her _not_ pregnant, so he's not all that sure about that yet.

"Come here," she insists, tugging him from his father's lap. His dad seems reluctant to let him go, which is pretty nice, but Felicity is insistent. Sitting on her lap is awkward as anything. He's sort of draped over her stomach as she hugs him like she's afraid he might disappear if she lets him go. "Nothing is ever going to change what you mean to us, Will," she promises. "Julianna is completely separate from you. We need both of you to make our family whole. She's gonna need her big brother and I'm gonna need my Will and so will your dad."

"Were you worried about this before today?" his dad asks.

Will can feel his lower lip quivering and his eyes watering up again. "Maybe a little," he admits.

There's a rustling of fabric for a moment and a squeak of the sofa. Soon enough, Will realizes his father is standing up. "Hold on a minute, Bud," he says. "I need to show you a Christmas present."

"I don't need a present," Will tells him, his heart sinking a little because he knows no toy is going to make this better.

"Good, because it's not for you," his father says, shooting him a slightly amused look. That's enough to pique his interest and Will watches as his father disappears into the kitchen and trots up the stairs.

It's very quiet then, except for the sound of his father's heavy footfalls and Felicity's concerned sigh as she rubs his back.

"We found out about you when we needed you the most," she tells him, tucking the top of his head under her chin. "I know you don't understand that, yet, but you've brought us a lot of joy when things were pretty tough. You're a bright spot in both of our lives and neither one of us would give you up for anything. You make everything better, Will. You make us so happy…"

He cuddles in, ignoring the way Julianna pushes back against his chest when he squeezes Felicity. Every word she's said, every word his dad's said is like a balm to his bruised heart. And he wants to let it heal him. He wants that so badly…

"Found it," his dad says, reentering the room with a box in hand. "I got this for your sister for Christmas, but I think maybe she'd want you to hold on to it for her for now."

Will eyes the slim box warily because he can't possibly begin to imagine what's in it. Felicity clearly knows, though, because the smile on her face grows about a mile wide as she watches Will's dad with teary-eyed affection.

"Go on, open it up," his father urges, handing him the box.

Will untangles himself from Felicity, as his dad sits back down next to them and pulls them both closer with an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder. It's nice, cozy, leaves him literally surrounded by the family he's been sitting here questioning his own value to. They're definitely acting like they want him, anyhow.

He shakes off the top of the box and looks down at it with a furrowed brow before looking back up at his dad. "It's a picture frame with lots of spots for pictures."

"It's a little more than that," his dad tells him. "How's your reading going?"

"It's… going," Will says a little anxiously. Words are hard. He's got letters down no problem, but books with pictures are just so much easier.

"How about I help you a bit here, then, okay?" his dad offers, taking his hand and placing it over the engraving beneath one empty spot for a picture. "What's this first word? You know this one."

"It's Will," he says a little astonished at the familiar letters beneath his fingers. "And the next word is 'and.' I know that one. It's a sight word at school."

"Good job," his dad says. "Can you sound out the next word here?"

"Um… Gel?" he asks before huffing in frustration when his dad doesn't agree.

"Maybe we should save the reading lesson for sometime a bit less… this one," Felicity offers.

"Jules," his dad tells him. "That word is Jules. This says 'Will and Jules at their first ballgame.'"

"It does?" Will asks, looking up hopefully.

"Yeah," his father confirms. "It does. And this next one says 'Will and Jules at the park.' And the next one says 'Will and Jules at Mom and Dad's wedding.' ...You were always gonna be a part of our family, Will. From the instant I knew you existed, we wanted you to be in our lives. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise, not your grandmother and not your own heart. Julianna won't make you less a part of this family, she'll just give you a bigger family to be a part of, Buddy."

It's a good thing that Felicity had one hand on the picture frame because Will drops it without warning and launches himself at his father. Oliver's more than ready for him, holding onto the boy for all he's worth.

"I want you in my life, too, Daddy," he murmurs into his father's neck. "Felicity and Julianna, too. I'll be a good brother. You'll see. I'll take her to the park and teach her baseball and I'll only sneak her cookies sometimes."

"I know, Little Man, I know," his dad whispers back, rocking him and cupping the back of his head. "I never had a doubt, because you're already the best son I could ask for."

Will swallows hard and nods, before pulling back and looking at his dad. "Is it okay if maybe I don't like your mom so much?" he asks. "She makes me feel bad. I don't like feeling bad. I don't think I want her to be my grandma. Can I just have Grandma Donna instead?"

He's pretty damned nervous about asking this, but he just doesn't know how he can face his Grandma Moira. Not after today, not knowing what she thinks of him. And he doesn't want to feel sad. It's awful. He hates crying.

"You're always gonna have Grandma Donna," his dad tells him. "And I think maybe it's a good idea that you don't see my mom much for a bit."

"I think Samantha is going to insist on that," Felicity adds quietly.

His dad tilts his head in agreement. "However you feel about my mom is okay, WIll. She hurt both of us and she cost us a lot of time together. I can't blame you if you don't like her. She's not always an easy person to like. And if you don't want to see her, I'll limit that as much as I can for you, but she's still your grandmother. Nothing changes that."

"Okay," Will agrees, because that's as close to getting his way as he thinks he can really expect.

"Do you feel a bit better? Did you want to call your mom?" his dad asks. Even without looking, Will knows just from his tone that his father is desperately hoping he doesn't want to make that call. His mom will come rushing back in a heartbeat. She'd probably be upset with his dad, even though it's not really his fault, and Will might not even get his holiday weekend with his dad if that happened.

"I'm good," he assures him. He lets go of his dad with one hand to rest it on Felicity's belly. Jules kicks him immediately in greeting - or maybe it's a fist-bump, he's decided his little sister is the fist-bump type; maybe they'll make up their own secret handshake someday, just like in Big Hero-6. Felicity's hand settles over his and squeezes gently. Something in his heart settles at the closeness with the three of them.

When he'd been younger, when he'd daydreamed about his dad, he'd come up with a million scenarios for what his father would be like. Sometimes he was awesome, sometimes he was awful. Sometimes his dad had a whole huge family that existed without him, sometimes his father was a spy or a soldier or a superhero. His imagination drafted a hundred scenarios, a million lives that could have been his, but thinking about that now, he realizes not a one of them was as great as his life really turned out to be.

"I'm more than good," he says. "I'm sort of great."


	26. August 2029

**Author's Note** \- Trigger warning for discussion of human trafficking of minors in this chapter. It's entirely referenced as something Team Arrow stopped days prior and nothing is seen. Details are sparse.

 **August 2029**

"I'm not gonna _hit_ her." Will shifts uncomfortably, his body tense as he looks around. He taps his hand against his thigh uneasily, and Oliver fights a smile, because he really, really should have seen this coming. Will shakes his head. "I can't take a swing at her. She's my baby sister."

Jules snorts as she slips on a pair of boxing gloves and turns to her mom for help tying the laces. Felicity's gotten awfully good at it over the years, so much so that it's second nature for her now. Jules barely pays attention while her mom works. "You don't seem to have a problem going up against me," she points out with a toothy, sweet grin tossed over her shoulder.

"You hit back!" Will counters.

"I will so hit back, too!" Ellie protests, holding up her gloved hands. Her headgear is already in place.

"You'll try anyhow," Jules agrees, smirking at her sister.

Ellie sticks her tongue out in response.

Will looks like he's at a total loss for how to fight this, but he's obviously dead set against squaring off against Ellie. In theory, Oliver gets that. He can't imagine being in a position where he'd have had to throw a punch, no matter how cushioned, against Thea when she was eleven. But, this is about a whole lot more than just practice. This isn't some test in a martial arts studio for a colored belt. For their family, it's always been so much more than that. He's insisted on Sunday night training sessions since the moment he became a dad. It's been a necessity from the start. But Oliver's also had a renewed sense of urgency about his kids' protection for the last few days. It's left him driven to see them better prepared, better equipped to defend themselves.

"She could use the practice against someone bigger than her," Oliver points out, the gravity of what he's saying weighing his voice down. He stares at his oldest, watching the depth of his words starting to sink in. His kids have always been more aware than the average child about the dangers that lurk in the shadows of their city, but Will's just weeks away from twenty one and he's undoubtedly more informed than the others. "Out there, it's not gonna be someone Jules' size she's up against. You know that."

"I do," Will agrees, though it sounds like he hates the sound of his own voice. "I just… I don't know if I can do it."

"Look at it this way," Jules chimes in. There's an edge of snark to her tone and Oliver knows which direction this is headed long before her words make it obvious. "You get to be one of the sage instructors of a one-day superhero. You're her Obi-Wan."

"First of all," Oliver starts, locking eyes with his daughter. "Your brother is _clearly_ a Lando, not an Obi-Wan."

He's barely aware of his wife blinking at him, but he does her hear say,"How is it possible that you're even _more_ attractive than usual right now?" while Nate makes a gagging noise in the background. Oliver's lips twitch and he shoots Felicity a quick but loaded glance before returning to Jules.

"Secondly," he continues, holding up a finger as he talks - because this is by far the more important part, "your sister can be anything she wants to be. I don't care if that's a superhero or a car mechanic or an astronaut or an ice cream server. Same's true for you, Julie-bug. Your life is what you make it. The fact that you exist proves that's true, so I don't want to hear any more of this 'fated superhero' stuff. Got it?"

Jules rolls her eyes, muttering, "Whatever." At least, that's what Oliver thinks she's muttering, but she's got the mouthpiece in now and it's hard to understand her. All the same, her cheeks turn pink and she looks away, so it seems like maybe he successfully pushed that idea back for the moment. Again. Felicity winks at him over Jules' head with an approving smile.

It's come up less frequently in recent years, Jules' insecurities relating to her sister, but it's still a factor. Oliver sort of thinks it might always be, to some degree. But he and Felicity will keep working to break it down, to reinforce that both she and Ellie are their own people with their own lives to write for themselves, and most days Jules seems to believe them.

"Come on," Felicity says, rubbing Jules' shoulder. "We're starting with the bag. Let's get you loosened up."

"You'll pair off with her in a bit?" Oliver asks his wife.

"Mmhmm," Felicity agrees. "But I could probably use a few rounds with you later."

Oliver's not sure if that innuendo is intentional or not, but Will has to actually turn around so that he's not looking at them as he shakes his head. Thankfully, the others are a bit young to pick up on the double-meaning, but Jules looks like she knows she missed something.

"That's…" Felicity says, her words catching up with her. "You know what I mean."

So, it had been accidental. It's been awhile since she's done that. Oliver knows he should let it slide, but _damn_ it's just such a good opportunity and he's never been that great at impulse control when it comes to his wife.

Oliver grins. "You can explain it to me later in detail."

" _Dad_ ," Will objects with a whine.

And… yeah, that's not really fair to do to his kids, as much as he'd love to keep flirting suggestively with his wife.

"You and Ellie," Oliver says sharply. That earns a look from his oldest. "She's been shadowboxing for weeks, but that's not good enough anymore. And I don't want her just focused on escaping an attacker anymore. I want her to take him down. Focus on the uppercut with her. Her hook needs work too, but not tonight."

Will casts a look at Ellie. She's far too eager for this, bouncing on the balls of her feet, giddy to take on her big brother for the first time.

"I liked this a lot better when I was teaching her how to break holds," Will informs him.

"Sometimes it's not a grab," Oliver tells him, his face stern, his voice hard. "Sometimes it's a gun or a knife or a syringe full of Vertigo and you can't just learn how to-"

" _Oliver_ ," Felicity interrupts.

His head swings to her. Her eyes are intense and he knows her well enough to see everything she's not saying: " _They don't need to know this. This is too real for them. Take it down a notch."_ His heart aches with the truth of that. But he saw a lot of kids this week who didn't need to know this yet either.

And they _hadn't_ been prepared.

He's ready to argue, to nail his point home, but then he sees Nate out the corner of his eye. His son's brows are furrowed, a soft, confused look on his face as he stares up at his father. Oliver's shoulders sag, an anxious desperation burning his gut. The last thing he wants to do is scare the hell out of them, but…

 _Damn it_.

He just wants them to be ready. He just wants them to be safe. And the places his mind's gone since that raid earlier this week, since he and Digg saved that freight container full of kids on the wharf… Every time he closes his eyes he sees Ellie there instead, shrinking away from him in fear. He sees Nate curled up in a ball in the corner, crying into his knees. He sees Jules looking brokenly back at him, eyes hollow and blank.

Oliver spent that whole night throwing up after he'd gotten home and he'd called the kids out sick from school the next day, both to spend time with them and force himself to recognize that they were okay. He just… he's seen a lot of terrible things, but those kids… what those kids had been through, the future that had been meant for them, it hit him on a different level.

He's still not past it. He's not sure how to _get_ past it, but training his family to protect themselves better is something he can do.

"Okay," Will agrees, snapping Oliver's mind back to the basement gym instead of that rank freight container. "We can work on uppercuts."

Will's always been intensely perceptive and Oliver has no doubt that his oldest has some idea of what this is about, even if he doesn't know the details.

That's okay. He doesn't need to.

"Grab a mouthguard," Ellie advises with overwhelming confidence. "And prepare to stare up at the ceiling."

Will raises an eyebrow at her. "You're all talk, short-stuff," he says.

"Tell it to my glove," she replies with a mock-sympathetic wince.

Despite the weight of his thoughts, the lighthearted banter relieves some of the pressure in Oliver's chest.

She's like this when she spars with Jules, too. The two girls have squared off against each other for years. They're well matched, his daughters. Jules' grace and Ellie's swiftness make for an interesting and challenging fight. They've definitely learned from each other and Oliver has no doubt that the two girls working together would be a force to contend with. But neither one is used to taking on a much larger opponent, not beyond escape techniques anyhow.

Jules is fourteen and Ellie's eleven. It's time they learn. Past time, even.

A heavy sigh from Nate has Oliver looking at his youngest. "Do I have to do katas?" Nate asks.

He hates this. More than anyone else, he well and truly hates it.

Which is the biggest reason he needs to practice the most.

"Nope," Oliver tells him, which earns him a hesitantly hopeful look that Oliver knows will very soon disappear. "Grab a foam bō and meet me on the mat."

Nate's eyes go huge, his jaw slackening as he casts a worried look to his mother. For her part, Felicity is surprised enough that she loses some of her hold on the punching bag Jules is going at and it swings into her, nearly knocking her over.

But she barely lets the bag phase her.

She's too busy staring at Oliver incredulously.

"Tell me you're kidding," Felicity demands.

"I'm not," Oliver immediately counters, his voice taking on a stubborn tone. "There's no weapon you're more likely to have on hand than something resembling a bō. Ellie's great with a bow and arrow-"

"Thank you!" Ellie interjects as he continues on.

"-and Jules is sort of terrifyingly good with a chain-whip."

Jules shrugs. "I like them," she says. "It's like rhythmic gymnastics. But with weapons."

Yeah… that's not concerning at all, but Oliver presses on. "Will has practically grown up with a bat in his hand and he's got the power he needs behind a hit. Nate needs something, too. I think a bō is a good place to start."

At the terrified look on Nate's face, Oliver finds himself faltering slightly, wanting to make it better. He wants his kids happy, but he also needs them to be safe. And with Nate, he gets the sense that balance might prove harder than with the others.

"It'll be fun," Oliver says, giving Nate a hopeful smile. "Just you and me, buddy."

"Oliver, he's seven," Felicity points out. Her anxiety about this isn't helping anything because Nate just nods and edges closer to his mother.

"We're just starting with basics," Oliver promises. "Foam bōs and it'll be all form and proper movements, honey. We'll do it right." He levels her with a heavy look. "I'm not gonna take any risks."

She knows that. He knows she does, but he also knows that Nate growing up is hard for her. Ever since he hit kindergarten she's had a hard time letting go, watching her youngest getting older. It doesn't help that he seems content to cling to her for as long as she'll allow. But, like it or not, he _is_ growing up. And their lives demand a certain level of preparedness that other families don't have to instill in their kids.

"Foam or not," Felicity continues, "those sticks are hard, Oliver."

Jules sighs and shakes out her arms, clearly wanting to get back to the punching bag, but having to wait for her mom to steady it.

"I'm just gonna show him the forms and do defensive moves," Oliver swears. "Very slow, measured basics."

Felicity swallows. Hard. She doesn't like it but she trusts him and she nods as she reaches out to run her hand over Nate's hair.

"Mom!" he protests.

"It's fine, baby," she says, turning to him and cupping his cheek. "This is just like katas only you're holding a stick."

"Uncle Digg had two broken fingers from sparring with one of those sticks!" Nate squeaks.

"Not the foam ones," his mother points out. Thankfully she fails to mention the time he'd trained her with those foam bōs and wound up with a bruise across the length of his back that had lasted a week when she'd gotten a good hit in against him. It'd hurt like hell, but he'd been so proud of her that he hadn't minded in the least. "You can do this, Nate. Your dad taught me. He can teach you, too."

Oliver's taught his wife a whole lot of self-defense over the years. She's not a fighter by nature, never will be, but she can hold her own if she needs to. It took years to get her to that point, but he's confident in it now. Oliver knows Will can handle himself, and he's getting increasingly comfortable with both Jules and Ellie. But Nate…

"Come on," Oliver urges his youngest, forcing his voice a little lighter. "The sooner we get started the sooner we can be finished."

Nate sighs dramatically. It's the long-suffering sound of giving in. His shoulders sag and he stomps over to the practice weapons rack, grabbing the first foam stick he finds.

"Lesson one is to pick the right weapon," Oliver tells him, walking over and taking the stick from his hands. The look his son shoots him has so much sass that he looks like Jules for a moment. "This stick is too big for you," Oliver continues, standing it on its end next to his son. "You need something just a little shorter than you are so that you can control it well and avoid hitting the ground, okay?"

" _I'm_ gonna be hitting the ground," Nate grumbles.

"You will not," Oliver insists. Nate raises both eyebrows at him in utter disbelief. "Not after you've got this down," Oliver clarifies. "Getting knocked down isn't a bad thing as long as you keep getting back up."

He realizes all of a sudden that there's not nearly enough noise in the basement and he turns to the rest of his family to find everyone watching him and Nate warily.

Oliver takes a measured breath. "But being distracted in a fight," he says, narrowing his eyes at them, "means you lose."

They take the hint. Felicity grabs hold of the punching bag and nods at Jules who goes back to pummeling the thing with barely more than a sympathetic look to Nate. Ellie and Will are a bit more preoccupied, but Oliver keeps his gaze fixed on them until they turn away and square off against each other. He'd like to see how Ellie fares against her older brother, but Nate needs his attention right now and he knows that Will will recap it for him later.

"Use this one," Oliver says, pulling the shortest foam bō off the wall. "It's closest to your size and it'll be easiest to handle."

Nate grimaces as he takes the stick from his father. "Now I try and hit you with it?" he asks, with just enough edge to have Oliver forcing himself to take another slow breath. Man, this kid's all attitude today.

"No," Oliver corrects. "Now you learn how to hold it."

"I'm pretty sure I can figure out how to hold a stick," Nate deadpans.

"Can you?" Oliver asks, crossing his arms and stepping back. "Show me."

It's clear he's called Nate's bluff when the kid uneasily puts both of his hands right near the middle of the staff and holds it out in front of him.

"That's how you think you hold it?" Oliver asks.

"Well, it's in my hands, isn't it?" Nate sasses.

"Don't be cute," Oliver says sharply. "This isn't a game, Nate." The boy wilts slightly. He chews on his bottom lip, shifting the stick with an uneasy shrug by way of response. "Okay, let's say you're right. Let's say that's how you hold it. Try to hit me holding it like that."

Nate stares at him for a beat before asking, "Don't you need a stick to hit back with?" He shoots a nervous look toward the larger staff he'd tried to use at first.

"Nope, not today," Oliver replies, setting his stance. "Come at me and try to hit me. We'll go from there."

It's half-hearted at best and Nate's movements are clunky and wrong, but then Oliver expected that; it's sort of the point. When Nate lunges, it's jerky and awkward, his whole body twists as he tries to swipe the bō at his father's midsection. It's a very simple thing for Oliver to grab the end of the stick and twist, wrenching it out of Nate's grasp and tossing it aside.

"Well, _that's_ surprising," Nate announces sarcastically.

Given that they've just started this - and they have a very, _very_ long ways to go - Nate's frustration level is a little over the top.

"You might not know how to hold a bō, but you definitely know that wasn't the right way," Oliver points out. "Just like slipping away from someone grabbing your arm, if your thumbs are in the same position it's gonna be easy to wrench a stick out of your hands. The break is in the same place. You have to have one palm up and one down or you've already lost the fight."

"I don't even want to have the fight," Nate grumbles.

"Doesn't mean you won't wind up in one," Oliver reminds him. "Pick it up. Let's do this again."

Nate follows directions - because he's Nate and he _always_ follows directions - but he's clearly no happier about it than he was the first time. Most of the time, Oliver's glad that his youngest isn't a fighter. But he also quietly hopes that the boy will find a sense of satisfaction in his successes at self-defense, once he starts having them. This is too important of a thing for him to take lightly.

"Balance, Nate," Oliver tells him, adjusting the boy's hands. "You control the weapon, don't let it control you. The more you have to move the more energy you exert. You'll tire faster and your moves will be more easily read. We don't want that. See how your hands are positioned now so that they cut the staff into three equal parts? You have more control like this."

"Okay…" Nate agrees warily.

At least it's a slightly better attitude than before.

"Think of it like math and science," Oliver tells him. "This is all physics anyhow."

Nate brightens up a little at that - which is predictable, when Oliver thinks about it - but a sharp cry from across the room pulls Oliver's attention away immediately.

"Aw, _son of a bi…"_ Will cuts himself off, his mouthguard hanging from the headpiece as he shakes his head like he's trying to force himself to think straight.

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks, alarm shading her features as she drops her stance and touches her brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Fine," Will answers, touching his lip. His glove comes away bloodied. "It's fine. Solid hit, Ellie. I should've blocked better." It's starting to swell a little, which makes Ellie grimace. Will shakes his head. "It's not your fault. Although I do sort of wish I didn't have a split lip for my date tomorrow."

"Ew, you're gonna _kiss_ a girl?" Nate asks, nose wrinkling up in distaste.

Will gives him a blooded grin, waggling his eyebrows. "Only if I'm lucky!" It's done entirely to horrify his little brother - which is exactly what it does - but then Will's always taken great pleasure in getting a reaction from his siblings.

"Go clean up," Oliver advises his oldest as Nate shudders and makes a retching noise. "Do you need a hand with your gloves?"

"I got it," Will answers, already unlacing them with his teeth.

"Good job, Ellie," Oliver tells her with a proud smile. For her part, Ellie looks like she's equal parts concerned about her brother and excited that she actually landed a real hit, but she flushes happily under the praise. "Maybe just do some shadowboxing until he gets back. Try and copy exactly what you did to get that blow in, okay?"

"Got it!" Ellie agrees brightly.

Will passes by Felicity and Jules on his way to the bathroom to clean up. Jules crosses her arms and tsks at him, shaking her head in amusement at his loss as Felicity touches his shoulder in concern.

"It's fine," he says again, squeezing her fingers and offering a slightly pained smile as he keeps moving. Her hand drops away but the concern on her face goes nowhere. She's never dealt well with any of the kids getting hurt, no matter how minor.

But training them is necessary. It always has been. Oliver remembers when Jules was a newborn and he'd brought her down to the gym, set her in a pack-and-play and talked to her while he trained, explained step by step what he was doing and why. She hadn't understood a word of it, but it had made this 'normal' to her from the get-go and it had given him practice at what to say and how to say it. By the time she was sitting on her own, he'd had her slapping bowls of water. She'd loved it, thought it was hilarious, even if the whole thing had made her mother uncomfortable at first. Felicity got past it, eventually, admitting how important it was that their kids could defend themselves.

The days of slapping water are long past, now, though.

"Let's go again," Oliver says, turning back toward Nate. "Don't reposition your hands and watch your stance. There's a few basics that work with a bō. For now, go with a front stance, just like when we do hand-to-hand, okay?"

Nate's had that stance drilled into his head long enough that he can do it without thinking, but it still isn't something that comes naturally to him. Not like it does to any of the other kids. The others are so athletic, but Nate… he's his mother's son and all of this is more of a struggle for him.

"Good," Oliver tells him as he falls back into form. It's tense and uneasy, but the basics are there and Nate is the sort to need positive reinforcement. "That's a great start."

"Am I supposed to hit you, now?" Nate asks. He sounds so uncertain that Oliver knows without a doubt anything he tries right now is going to fail miserably. He's so tentative, so ill-at-ease. There's no way to win a fight like that.

"Think you can?" Oliver questions.

Nate snorts. " _No_."

"Then you won't," Oliver tells him flatly. "If you go in assuming you'll fail, you will. Every time. Never take a swing unless you can picture it landing."

"I'm never gonna get a hit on you, Dad," Nate grumbles. His cheeks turn red with frustration or embarrassment, or maybe both. "You're _the Arrow_ and I'm seven!"

"You're small, fast and have two good knees," Oliver points out. "You're not gonna beat me today or this month or even this year, probably, but you will some day." The truth of that sinks in a little more than he'd thought it would. Oliver's 44-years-old and he's in incredible shape, but the damage he's done to his joints makes itself increasingly well known these days and holding his own against Will when they spar has gotten a _lot_ harder this last year. In part, that's great. He knows Will is well-equipped to defend himself. It's what he's always wanted for his kids. But it also highlights to Oliver that he's lost just a hint of his edge. Not much, not enough that it's hurt in him the field, but it feels like a portent of things to come and that's unsettling. Thinking about the day Nate will one day beat him… It's startling. "You just have to keep working at it. It's like anything else, Nate. You've gotta practice to get better."

"Fine," Nate agrees, though it's half-hearted at best. "So show me how to hit you, then."

"There's my boy," Oliver smiles at him, ruffling his mop of sandy hair. Nate smiles as he makes a noise of protest. He's so very affectionate, so tactile, but he's also been increasingly bothered by being treated 'like a baby.' At least, he has when it comes from anyone but his mother. He's more than happy to have her baby him. Oliver kind of thinks he always will be. "There's a few basic moves you need to learn, but let's start with a Four Point Strike for today, okay?"

The term means nothing to Nate and he shrugs blankly before Oliver continues on with the basics of the technique. The up-and-down, side-to-side motion isn't that hard, not comparatively, and he knows the hardest part for Nate will be striking the same spot and keeping his elbows up, parallel to the ground. Oliver plants himself behind his youngest, adjusts his hold, fine-tunes his stance, and puts his hands directly over Nate's, guiding the stick in sharp, clear moves to give the boy a sense of how it feels when done correctly.

It's easier like this, doesn't demand that Nate take control, and the little boy is a whole lot more comfortable with his dad dictating the moves. He only tenses up after a few minutes when Oliver backs off and asks, "Think you've got that?"

"I dunno," Nate mutters with a shrug. "Maybe?"

"Well, let's find out," Oliver decides. He can feel Felicity watching him as he grabs a foam shield off the wall and straps it to his arm. He learned the hard way that precision takes time and after chipping a tooth when Jules had gotten a little overzealous with a bō once, he's learned that protective gear is a whole lot more necessary when training kids than adults. They have less control, less an idea of their own capabilities.

Nate looks right past Oliver toward his mother. He doesn't want to do this, not even a little, but there's not much choice. This isn't for fun. This is for survival, for security, and Oliver will continue to demand the best from his children to ensure both.

"Right here, bud," Oliver says sharply, drawing Nate's attention. He pats a red X made of duct tape on the front of shield. "That's your target. You can do this."

The first attempt is lazy and half-hearted. He drops his elbows almost immediately and his grip slips a little on one side. He manages to hit the shield, but it's nowhere near the mark. That's okay, though. It's just his first try. That's what Oliver keeps telling himself, anyhow, even if his son's lack of commitment is driving him a little nuts.

"Good first try," Oliver offers. "Watch your elbows. Don't let them drop. And _focus_. Let's try this again."

The next ten minutes see a bit of improvement, but nowhere near as much as Oliver would like. At least not from Nate. There's a solid thunk from across the room when Ellie puts Will flat on his back. Felicity praises Jules' form with excitement that tells Oliver she's seeing some real progress. But Nate… it seems like his sisters' successes actually just serve to frustrate Nate more.

"Again," Oliver orders when Nate lunges sloppily, barely glancing a blow against the edge of the shield.

"This is stupid," Nate announces in a huff, his arm dropping to the side.

Irritation roars in Oliver's ears, flooding his veins, his own frustration building rapidly.

This is a lot of things - difficult, challenging, necessary, a process - but the one thing it's not is _stupid_.

"It's stupid?" Oliver asks. He knows the anger is leaking through his voice, but he can't help it right now.

"It's dumb and I don't want to do it," Nate challenges, his jaw jutting out in defiance. He throws the bō to the ground. "I don't wanna fight. I don't wanna be you. I hate this!"

Tension coils in every single muscle Oliver has and he only dimly hear his wife say Nate's name in a cautionary tone.

" _This_ , Nathaniel, is necessary," he grits out. "You think you hate this?"

"I do hate it!" Nate replies, his little fists balled up at his sides. "I hate it!"

"This is _nothing_ ," Oliver tells him. He's not even aware that he's walking forward, that he's closing in on Nate. "This is messing around in the basement with your family. This has foam sticks and protective pads. This isn't fighting every minute of every day for your own survival on a damned island filled with people who would slit your throat in your sleep if they could. This isn't finding yourself drugged and crammed into a nine-by-six freight container with two dozen other kids. What do you think that's like? Being hurt and dirty and terrified with no idea where you are or who took you. This isn't-"

" _Oliver!_ "

Felicity's voice is sharp enough to cut through the fog of blinding frustration that's muddied Oliver's head. He stops talking, swallowing hard, blinking fiercely as she enters his field of vision. The red haze recedes as he watches his wife pull Nate into her arms. The little boy's shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. Oliver deflates at that. It's too much reality for him, it's too much for _all_ of them. Even Jules is watching on with a furrowed brow and Ellie's leaning into Will, who's draped an arm around her protectively.

 _Protectively_.

That's all Oliver wants. He wants his family safe. He wants to know they can take care of themselves. He wants Nate to take this seriously, because the alternative... God, he knows what the alternative looks like. He sees it every time he closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Oliver breathes, his voice breaking as he drops the foam shield and rakes a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Nate. I didn't mean to scare you, kiddo. I just… I need you to understand that the world is-"

"Not now," Felicity interrupts, leveling him a weighty look as she cards her fingers through Nate's hair before looking down at him. "You're okay, baby. We just want to make sure you've got all the tools you need to protect yourself. Nobody's asking you to be your dad. We just want you to be Nate. That's all, just yourself. We love you for exactly who you are. We just want to make sure that you're confident in your ability to kick a little butt in case anyone ever tries to hurt you. It's just a precaution. Like seat belts in the car, okay?"

Nate sniffles into his mom's shirt as he nods, but his face is so buried against her chest that Oliver can't even see his eyes.

"I'm sorry I pushed so much," Oliver tells him, watching his wife as he speaks. He figures she's a better judge of how to deal with Nate than he is right now. Hell, she usually is. But this time she doesn't stop him. "I love you so much, Nate, and I just… I worry."

"S'okay," Nate mumbles, but he doesn't pull back from his mother at all.

It's not okay, Oliver realizes. Not really. He scared the hell out of his son and he's probably made him even more reluctant to train seriously. Anxiety swamps him at that thought, souring the back of his throat as he thinks about his kids, about the dangers that walk the streets and monsters that lurk in alleyways.

How many freight containers had they missed before this one? How many kids had disappeared? Were any of them fierce like Jules or joyful like Ellie or sensitive like Nate? Did they cry for their parents? They must have. Nate would have. Nate would've…

"Will, I have some cash in my purse in the kitchen," Felicity says, jarring Oliver. He's not even sure what he was looking at for the last minute or so. His mind feels adrift and bogged down all at once. "We're calling it early for you kids tonight. Everybody clean up and and then Will can take you out for ice cream."

"Shotgun!" Jules calls, smiling smugly at her sister before unlacing her gloves and tossing them aside.

"Damn," Ellie sighs, letting Will help her with her gear. "Fine, but I get shotgun on the way back. And I'm getting two scoops."

"Can I get extra cherries on top?" Nate asks, untucking his face from his mother enough to dart his eyes back to his dad. It feels like a test.

"Sure," Oliver tells him, reaching out and lightly rubbing Nate's shoulder. He doesn't shrink away, so Oliver takes that as a good sign. "As many as they'll give you. Just listen to your brother, okay?"

Nate nods. "'Kay."

"Come on, kid," Will calls out, tilting his head toward his baby brother. "Let's get moving. I bet I can eat more ice cream than you."

"No way!" Nate protests and an instant later, he's actually smiling. It's like Will flipped a switch and the bright, happy, affectionate boy is back. Like Oliver hadn't inadvertently scared the hell out of him just moments ago. "I'm a bottomless pit. Grandma said so. And besides, it's _ice cream_. That's my very favorite."

"You sure about that?" Will asks, raising an eyebrow. "I've got more practice and I'm way bigger than you."

"Bring it on," Nate tells him. "Ice cream is my specialty."

In any other context, Oliver would be laughing. But, given the way this evening has gone, it just leaves him with a well of guilt in his gut. This is what Nate's life should be. It's what all his kids' lives should be: ice cream eating contests and laughter and joy. And they _are_ that… but they're also weekly sparring sessions and constantly looking out for danger. It's been many years since he and Felicity had decided that a meaningful life was more important than a safe one, even for their kids. But some days… some days seeing what that means right in front of him leaves him feeling hollow, like a failure.

"Just… look out for each other," Felicity tells the boys. "Don't make yourselves sick, please." She's looking at Will, her eyes saying a whole lot more than ' _avoid an ice cream headache.'_

"Got it," Will replies.

Oliver has no doubt that he does.

Felicity mouths, ' _Thank you'_ to him as Nate abandons her arms and heads over to his brother's side.

"We'll be back in a bit," Will tells her as the kids all head toward the stairs with typical chatter between them - talk of ice cream flavors and toppings, bemoaning the smell of sweat, bragging about training successes.

Nate turns back when he hits the top of the stairs, Will pausing with him, a hand on his shoulder. "Love you, Mom… Dad," he says. It's shy, sounds a little like an apology and that just serves to gut Oliver further.

"Love you, too, Nate," he replies.

"Have fun, baby," Felicity adds.

He turns with Will and leaves a moment later. The click of the door shutting fills the otherwise silent room. It's overwhelming all of a sudden. He knows Felicity is watching him, analyzing him without saying a word. It's not like she's ever been the quiet type.

"Honey, I-" he starts.

"Not yet," she counters. She pads up the stairs, locks the door and comes back down. "You and I need to have a chat."

"I know," he admits, putting up his hand to placate her, but she ignores the gesture, stepping closer.

"You scared the _hell_ out of him, Oliver," she tells him. She's firmly in his personal space, eyes boring into him.

"I know that, too," he tells her slowly, meeting her gaze. He knows what she's doing, knows he deserves it, but he's still on edge, and despite his best efforts, he feels the familiar sparks of anger. He didn't do it _purpose._

"Do you?" Felicity questions. Oliver clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring, but she's not the least bit deterred. "He's _seven_ , Oliver. He just finished first grade."

"Kids in first grade are victims, too, Felicity!" he snaps, his voice rising. "He needs to be trained. He needs to be _ready_. You don't-"

"He wasn't in that container!" she shouts, bringing the root of his issue firmly to light. Oliver starts, blinking hard. His eyes burn, watering far too much and he has to look away because just hearing that aloud… Felicity ducks her head to follow his gaze. "That's what this is about, right? Those kids?"

Oliver can't look at her. He stares at the floor, squaring his shoulders, bracing himself… And then he nods. Just once, crisp and firm.

"You saved them," Felicity says. " _We_ saved them."

"Some of them," he amends, finally looking at her. "We stopped that one, that…" His eyes slip shut again, his voice rough - _strained_ \- as he says, " _Shipment_. How many others have there been? How will those kids ever get back to normal after what they've been through? You don't see their faces. You don't see what their eyes looked like."

She's quiet long enough that he finally looks back at her. Her face is sad, her brows drawn together in pity as she shakes her head, almost like she's stunned.

"I 'didn't see' you mean," she corrects. She moves closer, slowly, her hand hovering over his chest. But she doesn't touch him. "Past tense, Oliver. It's over. We saved them. We caught the guys who did it. We got those kids help." She doesn't let his gaze go, even when he tries to look away. "It's done, Oliver."

"I know," he whispers, bowing his head. It feels like the hundredth time he's said it. "I know that."

Felicity doesn't stop herself this time, pressing her hand over his heart before sliding it up to his cheek. He flinches but settles immediately, allowing her warmth to run through him.

"But you're still fighting that battle, aren't you?" she whispers. Her thumb brushes over his cheek. "Oliver… it's over. Come home to us."

"I just… I see…" He stops himself, putting his hand over hers and holding it to his face. It's grounding. She always is and he needs that right now as his eyes slip shut. "I close my eyes and it's like I'm finding them all over again. I see that little boy tucked in the corner, curled up to make himself as small as he could. It's like…" He looks at her, his other hand finding her arm. It's not for her benefit, it's for his, her touch anchoring him. "It's like that time we found Nate in his closet after a nightmare. Do you remember that? He was maybe four."

"We panicked because he screamed and then we couldn't find him," Felicity murmurs in agreement, her fingers stroking through the scruff along his jaw.

Oliver nods, releasing her hand. It falls away from his face a moment later. "It's such a big house. I love it here, but that's the one time I wished we'd gotten something smaller. It felt like forever searching each floor."

"But you did find him," Felicity reminds him. "You did. And he was fine."

"He wouldn't even look at me at first," Oliver says. It'll dawn on him later that he isn't clear about who he means here - Nate or the boy earlier this week - but they've sort of melded together in his head for the moment. "He was so small and he just shivered with his head pressed against his knees. He didn't even have any tears left."

"But you were there," Felicity points out. " _You_ made it better. Both times. You got that boy from the container to the police. He's home now because of us. And three years ago, you picked Nate up and brought him to our room. We made a cocoon and he played with my hair until he passed out."

"He slept with us for a solid week," Oliver recalls.

Felicity stares up at him. "Because he knew he was safe with us."

"But we can't always be there," Oliver says. And that's the crux of all of this, really. Nate's getting bigger. All of the kids are. And they'll keep reaching for more and more independence right up until they're in college talking about the date they've got tomorrow night. With Will, at least, Oliver's pretty confident he can take care of himself. He has been for a long time. Will had taken to self defense so easily and his mom had already had him in karate when they'd met. The girls, too, are just balls of energy. Jules loves to one-up anyone and everyone, while Ellie is so happy with his approval. But Nate… Nate's not like any of them. And it terrifies him. "I need him to be safe when he's _not_ with us."

"I know," she says. "Me, too. But you pushed your own fears onto him tonight, Oliver. He can't carry them. They're too heavy for such little shoulders."

That's a harrowing thought. There are so many demons that haunt Oliver. Fewer than one might expect - his family helps even things out more than he could possibly have anticipated - but they're ever-present nonetheless. And of all the people in this world, it's his baby boy he'd least want to see bear any part of them.

"You _are_ still spoiling for a fight, honey," Felicity tells him. "But the men who did that to those kids are in jail and our little boy needs patience and encouragement, not a crash course."

"So what do I do?" Oliver asks, a desperate vulnerability lining the words. "How do I finish this fight? How do I get this out of my head?"

"Two things," she says, stepping back and pulling out her hair tie before redoing her ponytail. "First, you need to remember that our family is a hell of a lot better prepared for the world than either of ours were at their age and that we're in total agreement about keeping up their training."

"And the second?" he asks.

"You let me prove it to you."

"What?" he asks, not quite following her.

"I promised you we'd go a few rounds later," she reminds him. "If you need a fight. I'm right here. And I think you need to remember that your usual methods work _pretty_ well. If you could teach _me_ to defend myself, you can teach our son. You just can't do it overnight."

Oliver doesn't respond, just watching her as she stretches her arms and cranes her neck. It's been a long while since they've gone up against each other. They're usually so focused on the kids on Sunday nights and he tends to spar with Digg or even Roy at the lair. Felicity's kept her skills sharp enough that she can fend off an attacker. He'd never send her into the field, not to fight, but he's comfortable in her ability to keep herself and the kids safe. And, maybe she's right. Maybe seeing that in action is exactly what he needs right now.

"Okay," he agrees. "Did you want to use bōs?"

"Hand-to-hand," she counters. "Five second pin after a takedown?"

Oliver raises his eyebrows at her. "You think you're gonna pin me?"

Felicity grins back. "Baby, I'm _excellent_ at pinning you." A mischievous light sparks in her eyes right before she winks at him.

Oliver groans outwardly because when his wife's in a playful mood it's absolutely his weak spot.

" _Felicity_ ," he says warningly, taking a step toward her.

She backs up a step, though, dodging his hands and falls into a defensive stance, watching him warily. She's waiting for him to move, to attack. Virtually everything he's taught her over the years is defensive, reactive. And, while he's sure she could adapt that to be the attacker in a pinch - she's awfully smart, after all - it's not something she's got any experience with.

So, he uses that to his advantage.

Oliver circles around her, keeping more than an arm's length between them, as he studies her, looks for weak spots, for a break in her concentration. Her form is great, though, relaxed but prepared. And she's clearly attuned to his every movement. But then, she usually is, isn't she? He can't even remember the last time they were in a room together and he _didn't_ feel her eyes tracking him, skimming over his form.

When he does finally make a move, he's not surprised at all to find her ready for him. She's smaller than him, more lithe, and she knows how to use that to her advantage. She _should_ , he's spent a very long time teaching her how. She spins out of his grasp easily, side-stepping and landing an elbow against the small of his back as she goes. _That_ registers as a bit of surprise. It's not all that hard and it doesn't hurt, but it definitely throws both his balance and his expectations out of whack.

"What was that?" he asks.

"Effective," she smiles sweetly from a few steps away, entirely too proud of herself.

It's earned, though.

She does surprisingly well against him, making him work to even reach her. It's a strong tactic, forcing him to expend energy and waiting until he's more tired, weaker. That would work on most people, but Oliver's battle-endurance outstrips virtually everyone else. After decades of fighting for his life, for his city, for his family, he's learned to push back exhaustion. Giving up isn't an option in his line of work and his stamina reflects that.

When he finally gets a solid hold on her, he goes for an armlock to take her down, but he makes one very uncharacteristic mistake.

He underestimates his opponent.

Felicity drives herself back into him, sending him off balance for just a fraction of a second. It's surprise, more than anything else, that lets her take his legs out from under him. But she does, and before he knows it, he's flat on his back with his wife straddling him, wearing an intensely proud grin as she pins him to the ground, her hands nailing his shoulders to the mat.

He _could_ flip her. It'd be simple enough. It's not like she's got him in any kind of a hold, but he's content to let her have this victory and he'd much rather stare up at her beautiful face and enjoy the solid weight of her body pressing down on him than keep fighting.

With a proud grin all his own, Oliver's hands find her hips. "Who the hell have you been practicing with?"

"Lyla," she answers. She's so delighted by this reveal that she's almost giddy. "I wanted to surprise you. And, well, I wanted to find out how to kick a little ass just in case you or the kids need me to step in sometime. Did I really do a good job?"

"You took me down," he points out. "But…" He looks down as he runs his hands up her sides, his palms brushing over her ribs, eliciting a tiny shiver from her. Oliver meets her gaze again as he moves them back down, digging his fingers in slightly. He delights in the flush that colors her cheeks as adds, his voice low, "I've gotta say this isn't the most effective position for pinning someone that I've ever seen."

"Oh," she says with faux innocence before biting her lower lip. The sight sends a shock of desire through him. "But I _like_ this position," she adds, suddenly arching her back and grinding down against him.

The sight of her hard nipples pressing through her shirt in combination with the delicious heat between her thighs pressing right against his growing arousal makes him moan. She grinds down harder, sucking on that damn bottom lip of hers, and he lets out a choked groan before sliding his hands around her to cup her ass. He grips her tight, pulling her even more firmly against him.

Felicity laughs, a delightfully breathy noise that's erotic as hell. She sits up, peeling her top off, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze. His mouth waters, wanting to lean up and pull one of her nipples between his lips, but she's already leaning over him, pressing them firmly to his chest.

She feels so damn good. He grips her ass tighter, rocking her hips against his, creating a low friction between them that has them both moaning.

"If memory serves," she whispers, her lips brushing his. "You like this position, too."

Oliver nods, a little too rapidly, his nose hitting hers as he tries to capture her lips… but this isn't his show.

It's hers.

Felicity kisses him. Oliver sighs against her lips, opening up for her, giving her anything she wants. It's long and messy, a little desperate and completely perfect. She nips and tugs at his lower lip as she braces with one hand beside his head, the other rucking up his shirt to get to his abs. She's always enjoyed the ridges of his well-defined muscles, and this time is no different. But there's something distinctly playful about her today. Her fingernails scrape lightly. It's as teasing a thing as he can recall in recent memory, sending a tickling desire surging through him. Oliver sucks in a wild breath, his hips jerking up against the cradle of her thighs.

She's taken him down in more than one way today, something that's obvious in the way she practically purrs in delight when she releases his lip and works her way to the underside of his jaw, seeking out his pulse point.

With the mood she's in, she'll probably leave a mark, but he doesn't fucking care. No, that's not true. He _does_ care. He wants it. He wants her to be utterly and completely in control, to leave a mark and be playful and tease him until he begs. It won't take long, not right now, because his ever-present adrenaline finally has somewhere to go and he wants to be inside his wife with a madness he hasn't felt in a long time.

"Felicity," he gasps. It comes out more as a whine than anything else. His hands knead at her ass as he rotates his hips beneath her. He can feel her heat through their shorts, right against his cock, and it's quickly driving him insane. "Please…"

Her teeth scrape against his throat and he almost chokes on his own tongue as he shudders, arching up beneath her. She takes advantage of that to work his shirt up further. It gets caught underneath his shoulders and a second later he's sitting up, helping her tug it off before falling back down.

Sensation rains down on him - the hot, sticky mat under his back, her warmth on top of him, her heavy breasts dragging over his stomach as she sucks on his collarbone.

"Mmm…" Felicity sighs. "You're sweaty."

"I know," he whimpers, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass again. He smirks, not able to help himself. "You think it's amazing."

She grins, looking up at him from underneath her lashes. "I really do."

"I'm aware," Oliver replies, a little amusement mixing into the rush of hormones flooding his body. "I've had fifteen years or so to figure that out."

Felicity hums, dipping down to kiss his collarbone again, and again. Her tongue sneaks out for a taste, making his lungs stutter as he tries to get oxygen to them.

"You smell like _you_ when you're all sweaty," she says. It's sweet, cute, a different tone from the playful vixen she was a moment ago, but he loves this version of her, too. He loves every version of her. "It's… it's primal, you know?" Felicity runs her fingers down his chest, re-exploring the well-mapped landscape of his skin. It doesn't matter that it's been a decade and a half, the feel of her fingers on his skin still leaves his head spinning. A trail of fireworks light up along his skin. "It's masculine, protective. It just… it hits me. And maybe it's just association. I mean, I _have_ been around you all shirtless and sweaty and ' _hello, there, Mr. Arrow_ ' more times than I can count." Oliver looks down, watching her through heavy lids, staring at her stare at him, transfixed. It's a sensual sight, primal in its own way, and it opens up something inside him as she continues, "But any way you look at it-"

Oliver can't help it. He sits up, kissing her mid-thought. For half a second she's startled, but then she melts against him, wrapping her whole body around his, cradling his head in her hands as she kisses him back.

"I love you," he tells her in the scarcest whisper of a breath as they part slightly. "Sweaty or rambling, cute or seductive…" He grins. "Protective or screaming for me to come kill a spider-"

"That was _one time_ ," Felicity protests. "And he was the size of my fist. We could have named him and had the cat raise him as her young."

Oliver chuckles. "I love every last thing about you. I always have and I always will. I am so lucky to have you as my partner, Felicity."

She might be forty now, but when she blushes happily, biting her lip and smiling, she looks just like she did when he first met her, when he hadn't thought there was any room for this kind of joy in his life. And, just like then, she utterly takes his breath away.

"We're lucky to have each other," she points out. "And I love you, too. Which is something I'd really like to illustrate for you in vivid detail right now, actually."

"I like that plan," he grins, hooking his thumbs into the top of her shorts.

Felicity laughs. "I figured you might."

She stands up, moving to push her shorts down but he bats her hands away, doing it himself. He doesn't take his time like he usually does - the urgency to be inside her is too much - but he absolutely enjoys the view. She will never not take his breath away. Felicity kicks her sneakers off before losing the shorts, leaving her beautifully naked. She leans down and tugs his shorts down before resettling herself atop him.

They wrap themselves around each other, Oliver slowly falling back on the mat, taking her with him. She spreads her legs, pressing her wet heat right against his hardness. He chokes out a breath as she moans.

One of his hands goes straight back to her ass again - it's a damn magnet to him, honestly - and the other reaches for her chest. He palms her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her beautiful blue eyes drift shut with a contented noise as she sits up, giving him more room. She puts one hand on his chest for balance and spreads her knees a little further out before rocking her hips against his.

His eyes damn near roll into the back of his head as his cock slips between her wet folds. His head falls back against the mat with a solid thud as every single bit of sensory input his body registers zeroes in on his groin and the way his wife is working herself atop him.

"Felicity… honey," he says, pinching her nipple a little harder and bucking up beneath her. His hardness slips over her sensitive clit, making her hiss. He does it again, palming her breast before grasping it tightly. "I really need to be inside you."

She nods, her hair swinging in her ponytail, and rises up slightly. She reaches between them, wrapping her fingers around his cock. His fingers dig into her, making her hiss again, but he can't bring himself to stop, especially when she pumps him a few times - entirely to make him see stars, he's positive - before guiding him to her wet entrance. She eases herself down onto him, her mouth open in a needy pant as he fills her. The wet heat of her body's embrace is so very familiar to him at this point, but it's still absolutely perfect.

He lets her dictate everything, happy to follow her lead.

The pace she sets is slow, almost lazy. It reminds him of their sparring, of the way she'd tried to wait him out, to wear him down. That tactic is more likely to work this time than in a fight. She's simultaneously his biggest weakness and his greatest strength. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

She braces herself on his chest, her rocking hips slowly - _slowly_ \- gaining speed. Oliver runs his hands all over her; she's damp with sweat, her taut muscles moving under his touch, her skin pink with her arousal and pleasure. He's drawn back to her ass, the plentiful mound so perfectly full in his hands. He grips it tight, just to feel her, not changing the pace one bit, content to let her be in control, to watch her through half-lidded eyes, to see her pleasure growing.

It's _gorgeous_ as much as it's intoxicating.

" _Oh_ ," Felicity breathes, her lips parted as she rides him. She tries to keep their gazes locked. It only sort of works because her eyes keep fluttering shut when she grinds down and he hits that spot inside her that he knows makes her pulse race and her pleasure spike.

Part of him wants to reach for her, to run his hands all over her body and kiss every inch of her skin, but the way she's perched atop him is utterly entrancing and a bigger part of him just wants to enjoy what she's offering and watch her drive them both right over the tipping point of ecstasy.

But she definitely doesn't take them there quickly. More than once, he starts to feel that distinctive rush of sensation, but she slows things down every time, picking up on changes in his breathing or maybe the tension in his thighs. It's maddening and he loves it, but he loves it even more when she smirks down at him as he lets out a frustrated groan. Felicity when she's a tease is a hell of a thing to behold.

After a while, though, when both of them are slick with sweat and they've traded more kisses that he can remember, her movements start to get a bit more purposeful.

" _Oliver…_ "

It's a helpless little noise, filled with want and desperation for fulfillment. She leans back a bit, bracing one hand against his thigh and grabs his fingers with the other. She brings their joined hands to her clit and lets out a startled gasp as both of their fingers find her stiff little pearl. He wants so badly to see her come undone at this point that his fingers rub her roughly, maybe a little bit faster than she'd choose on her own, but she keeps her hand on his, her own fingers woven between his and it's the most erotic thing he can remember seeing in a _long_ time.

It doesn't take long for her to reach the point where she's trembling, all her attention focused on their fingers between her legs, her hips moving over him, over and over. It does take every ounce of well-earned self-control he's got to keep from coming until she does, but he manages it, _barely_.

With an abrupt shout, her whole body seizes up above him, her body stretching out beautifully as she clenches around him, jerking wildly. That sight alone is enough to tip him over, joining her, and he finds himself gasping her name as his vision blurs, her body milking him dry.

The world takes a moment to come back to him.

A heady buzz of euphoria swims in his veins and every bit of his skin feels like it's oversensitized in the best possible way. But, when reality sinks back in, it's a whole lot better than it had been at the start of the evening, especially when his wife collapses across his chest. Her hair's a complete mess, her body sweaty and sated, her cheeks and chest flushed. The smile on her face is absolutely hypnotic. He could live in this moment forever, basking in the afterglow of their love making, with his wife happy and curled up in his arms.

Felicity smiles down at him. "Hey you," she whispers, kissing him softly on the lips. "There you are."

"I've been right here the whole time," he tells her. "Mostly."

"No," she counters, but she's still smiling as she lets her fingers drift through his hair. "But you are now. Welcome home, Oliver."


	27. December 2021

**December 2021**

It's not like it will be a surprise to anyone in their lives when Oliver and Felicity tell them that she's pregnant. The whole family is well aware that they expect to have a third child, as well as when he will be born and that he'll be a boy and what his name will be.

 _Nate_.

Their little boy. Felicity absolutely cannot wait for their son. She doesn't know if the _other_ her had longed for another baby, had planned it out and started taking prenatal vitamins a full month before she'd even conceived him, but she sure did. Oliver had done a double take when he'd found the bottle of oversized vitamins in their medicine cabinet.

" _Not yet_ ," she'd told him before he'd even had a chance to voice his question. " _But I'd really like to make another baby with you._ "

He had enthusiastically agreed and their afternoon plans had changed on a dime. The timing had been wrong then - they hadn't conceived him for several more weeks - but… hey, practice makes perfect, right?

And their little boy will be perfect. Felicity knows that with every fiber of her being.

This pregnancy, in some ways, is like a strange mixture of when she'd been expecting Jules and Ellie. With Jules, everything had been such an unknown. She'd been so very unexpected. At the time, Felicity had privately thought her first child might be Ellie, just born sooner. Time finds a way, after all. Right? But a head full of wispy dark hair when her oldest had been born was a dead giveaway that Jules was a very different person from Ellie, their someday child.

Coming to terms with that had been harder than she could have expected. In some ways, it had felt like losing Ellie all over again and it had taken a painfully long time to realize that the hollow sense of loss and inadequacy she felt was actually a rough case of postpartum depression, not any kind of failing on her part.

Her experience with Ellie had been entirely different, but her depression after the birth had not. It had brought all the same feelings of inexplicable hopelessness and exhaustion, the same certainty that she wasn't good enough, that her children deserved a better mother than her. But she'd known what it was that time, at least. So had Oliver. They'd learned the hard way with Jules, and she knows full well that neither of them will ever forget the day he found her sobbing uncontrollably in the rocking chair in the nursery while Jules gurgled away happily in her crib. And when she'd started down that path again, they'd quickly gotten her the help she'd needed to work through it.

She expects the same thing will happen with Nate, but that doesn't make her any less excited about her son right now.

Like with Ellie, she has a rough sense of what's coming. She knows, if things hold true to the other universe, what his birthday will be, that he'll be healthy. She doesn't know _him_ , not like she'd known Ellie before her birth, but she's nowhere near as in the dark as she'd been with Jules and she feels like she has a sense of what's coming.

The girls, however, do not.

In the last three months, she's had a 'stomach bug' or 'food poisoning' almost constantly. Her mom and Moira have both been staring at her midsection more than her face and Thea had not-so-covertly started leaving baby boy clothes in the spare room that they long ago decided would be Nate's. Her sister-in-law is a lot of things, but subtle is not one of them.

Still, they haven't told anyone yet. She'd wanted to get through the first trimester before confirming the suspicions of virtually everyone they know - even Samantha had offered saltines and herbal tea when they'd picked up William last weekend. They're fooling precisely no one.

Except their daughters.

But, that's going to end today, because today marks the first day of her second trimester and she's started having to use hair ties to fasten her jeans because she absolutely refuses to switch to maternity pants when she's only three months pregnant. Honestly, she knows you show earlier if you've already had a pregnancy under your belt - so to speak - but _come on_. How big is this kid gonna be?

"You ready for this?" Oliver asks, coming up behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her and rests his hands against the barely-there swell of her belly. His inability to keep his hands off her midsection lately would probably be a dead giveaway to the adults in their lives, even if they hadn't known about their inevitable third child.

" _So_ ready," she confirms, leaning back against him and running her hands down his forearms to lace her fingers with his over the curve of her stomach. "But do you think they are?"

"Ellie's going to be thrilled," he tells her immediately. That's the easy part, though. Felicity already knew that. "And Jules…"

"She's a wild card," Felicity murmurs, because she knows what her husband is thinking. Sometimes their oldest is so hard to read.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees. "She is. But she adores her big brother so maybe she'll be excited about a little brother, too." Felicity tilts her head to look back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Or not," he acknowledges. "A newborn isn't the same as a teenager who's happy to take you to the park and play with you. But she'll adjust."

Felicity nods slowly at that, because it's absolutely true. She'll adjust. She'll have to, but Felicity also can't convince herself that's going to be a quick or easy process. Jules is very protective of her family, but she's even more protective of herself. She shares so little of what she's thinking sometimes and Felicity would give almost anything for her daughter to be just a bit more open, just a little more revealing about what's going on in her head.

"Well then… I guess she should get started on that," Felicity ventures. "She's only got another six months or so to prepare." If she sounds a bit nervous, that's because she is. Hormones are a crazy thing and she's _pretty sure_ she'll bust out crying if Jules gets angry about having to welcome a baby brother into her home. "Unless you want to wait until next weekend when Will's here?"

They've had this conversation more than once. Felicity still thinks Jules might handle it better if Will's at her side, excited about yet another sibling. But Oliver's barely managed to hold to her 'wait-for-the-second-trimester rule' as it is and there's no way he's putting it off another weekend.

Oliver turns sheepish. "I told Sam we wanted to swing by with pizza and treat them for dinner tonight," he confesses. That surprises Felicity a little and it must show because he flushes a little and asks, "You don't mind, do you?"

"No," she answers right away. "It'd be nice to see Will and I'm sure he'll be happy. I just didn't expect that. Did you want to wait and tell the girls along with him?"

"I don't think so," Oliver says. "I think we should tell them now."

Yeah, he doesn't have a reason for that opinion and she knows it. He's just bursting at the seams to tell the girls and even waiting a few hours isn't something he's willing to do. He kind of wants to tell the whole world, she thinks.

Felicity stares at him. "We have lunch plans with your mom and sister tomorrow, don't we?" she asks as the idea dawns on her.

"No…" Oliver says, shifting and fidgeting slightly before clearing his throat. "It's brunch."

Felicity chuckles and shakes her head at him in disbelief. How is he so adorable about this? It's sort of blowing her away and she wants to kiss him senseless, drag him to their room and fully illustrate her appreciation of him. But that's the sudden lack of nausea and the flood of pregnancy hormones talking and right now they've got two little girls to clue in on the fact that they're going to be big sisters.

"Okay, stud," she grins, letting go of one of his hands to slide her fingers up the back of his neck as she twists a bit to kiss him. "You can shout it from the rooftops all you want… not _literally_ , please. Like, that's a thing that might be slightly awkward. Especially since usually when you're on rooftops, you're dressed all in green and all ' _grrrr you've failed this city_ ' and it would be really problematic to follow up with ' _and by the way I impregnated my wife again_.'"

"That might be a big clue to my identity," he agrees with a laugh as he steps back a bit and tugs her arm to turn her to face him. "But even as the Arrow I'm not sure I'll be able to keep the grin off my face." He presses his forehead to hers with a quiet, "Thank you for making me a dad again."

Felicity smiles. "My pleasure," she replies. "Like, literally. Super fun times. I enjoyed that process thoroughly."

The laugh he lets out at that is full-throated and entirely joyful. She loves that sound, loves the abandon he can let go with these days. It's such a far cry from when they met. She's not fool enough to think the darkness that's haunted his life is gone. It's not. She knows that. But there's balance now, a life that brings him fulfillment and reason beyond the narrow confines of a mission he inherited from his father. And that's a beautiful thing to see, but it's an even more beautiful thing to be a part of.

"Come on," he says, kissing her softly against and squeezing her hand in his. "Girls in their rooms?"

"Jules is," Felicity answers. "Ellie was watching tv in the family room."

He nods and starts toward the stairs, her hand still tucked in his. And, sure enough, they find Ellie flopped in front of the television, lying on her belly with her feet kicked up in the air as she focuses entirely on Rascal the Racoon and his woodland friends.

"Hey kiddo," Felicity greets. "How much longer is your show?"

"Dunno," the three-year-old replies.

"Hit pause, Ellie-bug," Oliver tells her. It takes a moment for the words to register with the toddler, she's so zoned out on the television, but when they do she sighs and stops the program. It's almost done, just a few minutes left, and Felicity can't help but think the timing is just about perfect.

"Don't start another one and don't go anywhere, okay?" she requests.

"'Kay," Ellie replies. She's already hit play again and Felicity would bet excellent money that she hadn't even really heard the words. Her love of this show is absurd. But then Felicity knew it would be. There'd never been a doubt about that; some things in the universe are a constant, it seems, and Ellie's love of Rascal the Raccoon appears to be one of those things.

This Ellie is not the same as the first one. Oh, they're very similar and physically are absolutely identical - something that's become painfully apparent as Ellie closes in on the age she'd been when the first Ellie had burst into their lives. But her life has been different from the start.

She has an older sister, both grandmothers, a chronically ill aunt, and she'll never have to worry about villains like Zoom and Malcolm Merlyn. Of _course_ she's different. She'd have to be. And sometimes Felicity finds herself wondering about the other Ellie, the first one. Who she is, what she's done with her life, if she's okay… She owes that little girl a lot and she will always love her fiercely. But she's a wholly different person from the Ellie lying on the floor in front of her, despite appearances.

A tug on her hand brings her mind back to the here and now as Oliver guides them toward Jules' room. The door's open and they find the almost-seven-year-old staring intensely at a piece of paper on her art desk as she dips a paintbrush in a murky jar of water to rinse it off. The intensity in her little girl's eyes is astounding for a first-grader. She's so very honed in on what she's doing. But that's Jules. She plans, she sorts things out, and then she acts. It's no different with painting than it is with conversation. Everything she shows is precisely what she wants to show. But, unlike in conversation, her painting is so very expressive. That had been a surprise to find, but maybe it shouldn't have been. She's always given so much to her dancing, too.

"How's the painting going?" Oliver asks, leaning against the doorway.

"Good," Jules says without looking up. She bites her lower lip and Felicity makes a mental note to pick her up some chapstick. She does that far too often when she's painting and this winter's been a cold one so far. Jules is prone to chapped lips far more than her sister. " _Sorta_ good," she amends. "Fur is really hard. I wanted to paint a monkey for Will, 'cause he's goofy like a monkey, but it's real hard."

"I bet he'll love it no matter what," Oliver tells her with absolute certainty. It's true. Will's entirely enamored with his siblings and Felicity's pretty sure they can do no wrong in his eyes. Jules in particular seems to need that. She's happier when he's around, more herself. As if Felicity needed yet _another_ reason to wish her stepson were around more. "How about you take a break though?" Oliver continues. "Mom and I wanted to have a family meeting."

Jules goes entirely still at that, save for the way her eyes dart between her parents with tremendous suspicion. "What's wrong?" she asks after a moment.

"Nothing," Oliver laughs. "It's nothing bad, kiddo. Just leave the paints for a minute and come join us in the family room."

"Wash your hands first, too, please," Felicity adds, because she can see wet traces of primary colors on her daughter's nails even from the doorway.

"Okay," Jules says, dragging the word out with tremendous hesitation, closing up her paints. She's so wary sometimes. People who don't actually know her seem to find it cute, but it just makes Felicity worry. Parenting in general makes her worry. The kids are never far from her thoughts and there's no shortage of things to bring out her concern.

"I'll get the sink for you," Felicity offers, taking a step away from her husband and nodding toward the restroom down the hall. "We don't want the knobs to the faucet turning red from all that paint."

"True," Jules agrees, looking down at her hands as she follows after her mom. Oliver's stepped away, heading back toward the family room and Ellie.

"Hang on, sweetheart," Felicity says when she and Jules reach the bathroom. She flips on the light and bends over to push the stepstool Ellie needs away from the sink. Jules is tall enough that it's more in the way than a help at this point.

"Thanks," Jules tells her as Felicity stands back up and turns on the water.

"No problem," Felicity replies as the little girl quietly washes her hands. She's being so quiet, internalizing so much right now and Felicity knows that's mostly worry about whatever the family meeting is about, but it's also been more and more common with Jules. It's such a gradual thing. Felicity can't even pinpoint when that all started, but she knows it wasn't always like that. At least, not to the extent it is now. Jules has always been more reserved than her sister or Will. It's just part of who she is, it seems, but it also feels like she's subtly, slowly closed herself off more and more over time. It's confusing and worrying, but she has no idea what to do about it. She doesn't even know if she _should_ do anything about it beyond love and accept her little girl.

"All clean," Felicity announces, handing her daughter a towel and turning off the water. Jules says thanks again, but it's done absently, more of an automatic reaction than anything else. "We're having dinner with Will and his mom tonight," Felicity says. Predictably, Jules perks up immediately.

"Really?" she asks, looking up with a spark of excitement.

"Yup, really," Felicity confirms, allowing herself to relax some because Jules is showing a sliver of happiness and she knows how to encourage that right now. "We're bringing over pizza and spending the evening with them."

"Cool," Jules says, smiling at her toes through a curtain of dark hair. Felicity can't help tucking some of it behind her ear.

"Come on, kiddo," she says. "This shouldn't take long and then you can get back to your painting. Maybe you can finish it in time for tonight."

"Yeah, maybe," Jules agrees as the two of them head out to the family room to join Ellie and Oliver.

" _No, see, because Chester the Chipmunk took_ all _the nuts and that wasn't fair_ ," Ellie's saying, her little voice drifting down the hall. " _It's a problem, Daddy. He needs to learn to share. Poor Rascal was so hungry_!"

Felicity can't help but smile as she hears Oliver softly reply with, " _He does. I bet you could have taught him, Ellie-bug, and I know you would have shared_." Ellie's huff and, " _Daddy… they're cartoons with cartoon nuts. I can't be there. It doesn't work like that,"_ is maybe the cutest thing she's heard today. Her grin is blinding by the time she gets to the family room with Jules at her side.

"Hey, ladies," Oliver greets them where he and Ellie sit on the floor. "Jules, why don't you have a seat next to Ellie. Mom and I want to tell you something."

"Are we going to Disney World?" Ellie asks immediately, sitting up straight, her eyes alight at the prospect.

"No, that's… no," Felicity says, wondering how her daughter came to this conclusion. Jules is shaking her head at Ellie as she sits next to her on the carpet. Oliver offers Felicity his hand as she moves to sit next to him with their backs to the base of the sofa. She's barely showing, of course, but her balance is already a touch off-kilter and she almost falls as she tries to sit down.

"Is Mommy okay?" Jules asks, her voice painfully quiet and tremendously worried. Felicity's eyes snap to her daughter's immediately and she's surprised at the honest concern reflected back at her.

"I'm fine, Jules," she reassures the little girl. "Promise."

"'Cause…" Jules starts, swallowing hard and licking her lips. "'Cause Ginger's mom threw up lots and got dizzy, too, and she said she was fine but then her doctor said she wasn't and she had to have the doctors cut her open and they thought she might even die and it got real bad."

"Oh, Jules, baby… no," Felicity says, reaching over to her daughter and tugging her close. Jules is tense as anything, but Felicity isn't about to let up. Not now, not with this. Ellie looks a little panicked all the sudden too, but she gets up on her own and scrambles between her parents. "That's not it at all. I already went to the doctor and I'm fine. In fact, I'm even better than fine."

"Momma… throwing up is not better than fine," Ellie says patiently, patting her thigh. "Throwing up is extra super gross, especially after you've just had rice cause then it gets stuck in-"

"Okay, yes, throwing up is gross," Felicity interrupts because she really doesn't need to hear the rest of Ellie's detailed analysis on why rice is the worst. "But I don't think I'll be doing that anymore."

"Did the doctor tell you not to cook?" Ellie asks in the most innocent little voice ever.

Oliver tries to hide his face as he laughs, but he's _way_ too amused for that to work and Felicity can barely work up a half-hearted scowl in his direction anyhow because he's not exactly _wrong_.

"No," Felicity says slowly, raising an eyebrow at her husband until his laughter dims to a light chuckle and a grin. Jules shifts nervously beside her though and she knows the little girl's worries haven't faded. "No, he told me that your daddy and I are going to have another baby."

"Oh!" Ellie says as Oliver wraps an arm around her and hugs her to his side. She looks down to her mother's midsection before looking back up. "There's a baby in your tummy? It made you throw up? That's not very nice of it."

"There is," Felicity agrees, bopping Ellie on the nose with her finger. "And you made me throw up when I was pregnant with you too, Ellie-bug. So did Jules. That's pretty common. Your little brother doesn't mean to make me feel sick."

It hasn't escaped her that Jules has yet to share a reaction and she wants to refocus on her older child, but Ellie jumps in with, "It's a boy?" just as she's turning toward Jules.

"Of course it's a boy," Jules says. "It's Nate, dummy."

"Hey," Oliver says sharply. "We don't use that word and it's not true. Apologize, right now, Julianna."

"Sorry," Jules grumbles. Ellie still looks hurt and confused, though, and it's a little heartbreaking. Jules doesn't seem to have any clue how deeply she affects her sister. "It's just… we _knew_ this would happen, right?"

"We knew it could," Felicity agrees slowly, because surely they could have changed things had they wanted to. But she's looked forward to this baby boy for years. Maybe it's that she's got a few years as a mother under her belt, maybe it's because she feels a little more prepared for all the challenges an infant brings with them this time, but she's so very excited about her son that she might burst. It's different than before. The hint of panic about her first pregnancy is nowhere to be found and the strange set of expectations that came with Ellie are absent this time, too. There's just… a little boy she can't wait to meet and welcome into the home and family that's more than ready for him.

"How'd he get there?" Ellie asks suddenly, quirking her head to the side and leaning forward to stare at her mother's belly up close.

"Uh…" Oliver starts, flushing and clearing his throat.

"He's from the other universe, remember?" Jules asks her sister with a deep sigh.

Wait… What?

"He popped into mommy's belly?" Ellie asks, eyes going wide. "No wonder she felt like falling down! How'd he _do_ that?"

"Same way you did, I guess," Jules tells her.

"That's not…" Felicity starts, shaking her head and looking to Oliver who seems every bit as thrown as her. "Honey, that's not what happened."

"What do you mean?" Jules asks, lines of deep confusion working their way across her brow. "You were waiting for them from the other timeline, the one we're not supposed to talk about with other people."

"No, they aren't the _same_ , Jules," Oliver tells her. "It's like… it's like… Felicity, help me out here."

"It's like cookies," Felicity says. She's hardpressed to decide who has the most confused face - her husband or her daughters - but she's started with this metaphor and by God she's gonna keep going with it. "Daddy and I were cookie batter but we hadn't baked yet. And someone else had made cookies with the same sets of ingredients. So we could see that they had some cookies with chocolate chips and some with raisins. And we knew we could be those kinds of cookies too, but not with the _same_ raisins or chocolate chips."

"I don't want to be a raisin," Ellie says with great distress. "Raisins are yucky."

"I don't understand," Jules admits.

"Neither do I and I know what she's trying to describe," Oliver tells her.

"How about you try then, Daddy," Jules suggests. "Because right now I still think Nate popped into Mommy's tummy from the other universe. It makes more sense."

"Your mom and I had a very special chance to get a look at what our lives _could_ be like," Oliver tells her. "Like seeing ourselves on television, I guess. We got to meet the Ellie that another copy of us had. We learned about Nate, too. But we didn't get to keep that Ellie or take that Nate. We made our own."

"How'd ya' do that?" Ellie asks.

"Uh…" Felicity chokes.

"My friend Tara says it's from storks, but I think that's silly," Jules tells Ellie. "I've never even seen a stork and I've seen _loads_ of babies."

"Me too," Ellie agrees. "So, how'd Nate get in there, Momma?"

"There is… a way," Felicity replies slowly, her voice faltering. "A very special way. When mommies and daddies love each other enough and they want to have a baby then sometimes they… do?"

"Is that a question?" Jules asks, looking at her mother like she's crazy. "You don't sound very sure. Maybe you should ask your doctor."

"I love loads of people and I like babies," Ellie announces. "Does that mean there's a baby in my belly, too?"

"No, it doesn't work that way," Oliver tells her. He looks a little shellshocked at the question.

"You _sound_ sure, but I don't think you really know," Ellie decides aloud.

"This is my fourth child," Oliver points out, sounding a little affronted. "I think I know how babies are made by now."

"I think maybe we should ask grandma," Jules decides, standing up. "She'd know for sure. Or Uncle Digg. He knows _everything_."

"He'll be pleased to hear that," Felicity supplies with amusement as Oliver says, "Please don't ask Uncle Digg where babies come from, Jules."

"When's he coming out?" Ellie asks, leaning her full weight on her forearms against her mother's thigh and poking one finger at her belly. "How's he gonna get out of you? There's not a door. Does he come out your belly button?"

"June. And… that's… an excellent question, about how he gets out," Felicity says, laughing nervously. "How about we have another family meeting after I… look up how to talk to you about all this?"

"You don't remember?" Ellie questions. "I guess it's been a long time since I was born. Three and a half whole years."

"Maybe the baby makes it hard to remember things, too," Jules suggests. "But you'd think Daddy would remember how it works."

"Maybe there's a baby in him, too!" Ellie suggests.

"Don't be silly, Ellie. That's what mommies do, not daddies," Jules tells her.

"But mommy and daddy both love each other so much so maybe they made _two_ babies by mistake," Ellie insists.

"There's just the one," Felicity tells her, trying not to envision the notion of twins and blinking that idea away. She's utterly thrilled to be having Nate, but _wow_ is she glad there's just one of him. "The doctor said so. He even gave me a picture. Did you want to see it?"

"Yes!" Ellie declares excitedly. "Come on, Jules! We get to see the baby! We're going to be very good big sisters, Momma. I promise."

"I know you will, Ellie-bug," Felicity tells her, smoothing her fingers through the little girl's loose curls before reaching for the phone in her pocket. She pulls up the ultrasound photo right away and turns her phone so the girls can see it. Ellie practically has her nose pressed to the phone, but Jules is a few feet away watching on warily. "You will too, Jules. You're already a great big sister. You will be again. Do you see here? That's his head and that's his middle. You can see one of his arms right here and that's a foot."

Ellie's face quirks to the side and she gnaws on her lip as she watches the screen. "Momma… I think your doctor's wrong. I don't think that's a baby. I think it's a burrito."

"A _burrito_?" Oliver laughs. It's a full-bellied sound and so joyous, so pure that the happiness of it spreads right out over Felicity. He scoots closer to her and wraps an arm around her waist. Ellie's still between them, but she's down near Felicity's knee and there's enough room that Oliver can kiss Felicity's shoulder as he laughs. She loves that.

"They can make you throw up, too, Momma," Ellie says sagely. "You should ask the doctor to double-check."

"Honey, I promise, it's not a burrito. It's a baby. It's your brother Nate," Felicity insists.

"I might start calling him burrito, though," Oliver muses.

"Our son is _not_ a burrito," Felicity bristles.

"Not _a_ burrito. Burrito," Oliver corrects with a goofy grin. Pending fatherhood has put him in a tremendously joyous and silly mood. It has every time.

But still…

" _No_ ," Felicity insists.

"Can I talk to him?" Ellie asks, cutting through the silliness.

Felicity's heart positively skips a beat at that before speeding up to double-time. "What?" she asks.

"I know he can't hear me yet, but maybe I could pretend?" Ellie suggests. She's nervous and hopeful and it feels like deja-vu, makes Felicity's head swim at the echo of a memory playing out in front of her. "I don't have to," Ellie says with a little shrug, misreading her mother's shock as reluctance. "It's okay."

"You can," Felicity tells her. It feels like playing out a script.

"Really?" Ellie asks delightedly.

"Really," Felicity confirms.

Ellie's little fingers grab the bottom of her mother's shirt and push it up, exposing the flat plane of her stomach. She moves so that she's cross-legged on Felicity's lap and leans over, speaking directly to her mother's belly button.

"Hi, baby!" Ellie says in what she seems to think is a whisper. Felicity feels Oliver's fingers twitch against her side and hears him exhale an unsteady breath. He's as lost in memories as she is and she knows it.

"It's Ellie! Your big sister. I've never been a big sister before, but I promise I'm gonna be so good at it 'cause Jules taught me how and I already love you loads."

There is nothing in the whole world that could make Felicity tear her eyes away from Ellie in this moment. Just as there is nothing that could pull Oliver's attention away from their younger daughter.

Ellie pats her mother's stomach, scrunching her fingers against the gentle rounded plane like she's done this a hundred times before, like she'd done when it wasn't quite _her_. An unexpected pang of longing hits Felicity for that other little Ellie, for the first child she'd considered one of her own.

But what follows a moment later deviates from the script of before and it reminds her so very thoroughly that no matter how wonderful that little glimpse into their other life might have been - no matter how much they gained from that experience - the lives they've made for themselves are so, so much better.

"You too, Jules," Ellie says, sitting up on her mother's lap and reaching toward her sister.

For her part, Jules is a touch hesitant. She's a little less thrilled about this baby thing than her little sister, but that's okay. She's got time to get used to it and this feels like the first step in the right direction. Felicity nods her head in invitation with a smile at her older daughter and Jules shuffles forward until Ellie grabs her by the wrist and pulls her down.

"Baby Nate," Ellie says, talking into her mother's belly button like it's a microphone again. "I am Ellie and I am three-and-a-half years old, so I am big and I know lots. This is Jules and she is seven _next month_ so she knows even more but not as much as Will who is fourteen and very old. They're your sister and brother, too, just like me." She pulls back and looks at her sister. "Say hi, Jules!"

Jules looks like she feels silly but everyone is watching her expectantly so she leans forward a little and says, "Hi, Nate."

Ellie huffs at the lackluster greeting. "Not like _that_ ," she corrects. "He can't hear you from so far away." She's all of maybe a foot from Felicity's stomach. "You gotta get close like this," Ellie advises, her mouth brushing the skin of her mother's tummy. "Hellooooo in there, baby brother!" She leans back and tugs Jules forward more. "Come on. Don't be shy Jules. He's gonna love you. You've gotta introduce yourself."

Jules turns bright red at that and swallows hard, looking anxious and self-conscious, but she leans in. "Hi Nate," she says. Her lips don't touch her mother's skin, but her hand does, ever so gently, stroking at the skin like she's petting a dog. "I'm Jules. And I think it's… kinda cool to meet you."

It's soft-spoken, shy, almost embarrassed that she cares, but it's such a huge step for Jules, for their family, and it seems to Felicity that all the pieces of their lives are sliding right into place. And the picture it forms is beautiful, perfect - even with its flaws - and it's not just the pregnancy hormones that make her gather her girls in her arms and kiss them both with tears in her eyes. It's the realization that she's living exactly the life she wants with exactly the people she wants in it.

And how amazing a thing is that?


	28. September 2027

**September 2027**

There are no shortage of difficult things Felicity's had to do in her life, but dropping Nate off for his first day of kindergarten ranks up there as one of the hardest for sure. It wasn't exactly easy when it was Jules or Ellie, either, but it's different with Nate. He's the youngest, her baby, and he hadn't wanted her to leave.

" _I'm too little, Momma_ ," he'd said, holding onto her leg, his fingers clutching at the fabric of her pants with white little knuckles. She'd been inclined to agree. He'd only been five for two months. Surely it couldn't hurt to wait another year. She could take him home, cuddle up with him and make up stories about 'Nate the Not-So-Fearless Lion.' He loves those, plays with her hair while she talks and smiles to himself as he snuggles up as close as he can get. It absolutely melts her heart and she wants to hold on to moments like those with both hands because right now it feels like maybe they're starting to slip through her fingers.

" _You're the perfect size, Nate_ ," Oliver had told their little boy, crouching down to his level and stroking the hair from his brow. " _You're Nate-sized, just like those chairs at the tables. You see? They're made for you, buddy. I know it's hard to leave your mom and preschool, but you're gonna love it here. I promise._ "

Something in Felicity had wanted to cover Nate's ears, to pull him away, and her heart full on cracked when his grip loosened on her pant leg.

" _Oliver_ , _maybe this is just too-"_ she'd started, but she'd been cut off by a little girl with pigtails and no front teeth at all.

" _Hi! I'm Sonja. You have a fish on your shirt and we have a class fish! Come see!"_

She'd taken Nate by the hand to lead him across the room and he'd looked back at his mother with sad, worried eyes, but he had followed without complaint. And, after a few minutes, he was more focused on the fish and his new classmate than her.

Which was heartbreaking all on its own.

" _See? He's gonna be fine, honey_ ," Oliver had said.

And he would. She knew he would. But she was a whole lot less sure about herself.

She'd barely gotten to the car before bursting out in tears. Thankfully, Frank had left his usual sass at home and Oliver had been ready for the waterworks. He'd held her the entire drive back to the brownstone.

The two weeks that have followed have been a little better. She hasn't sobbed like that again, anyhow, but leaving her baby at school still feels like she's leaving a part of herself behind and she hates it. She's buried herself in work during the day - an easy thing, considering her jobs - and absolutely coddled all of the kids in the evenings, but she still feels like she's missing something and it makes her heart ache with a longing she hasn't felt in a very long time.

Which is why today's plan came about.

She's excited. She's _nervous_. And maybe this whole thing would be better if they were out somewhere or if she'd sent the kids to spend the night with Moira or her mom, but… but she can't bear to be away from them. It's too hard. And, really, isn't that the whole point?

"You're in a good mood."

Felicity turns to find her husband leaning against the doorframe to their bedroom, his eyes soft as he looks her over. It's both appreciative and affectionate and it only reinforces what a good idea she thinks this all is. Because, in spite of so many obstacles and stresses they have in their lives, he's the best husband and the best father to her children that she can even imagine.

"I _am_ ," she agrees, a giddy little smile pulling at her lips.

"That's nice to see," he tells her, pushing off the doorframe to close in on her. "It's been a rough couple of weeks for you. I'm glad to see you doing better."

"It was hard to watch the girls go off to school," Felicity admits. "But it was harder with Nate, because he's the baby, you know? It wasn't just about him starting kindergarten. It was that I don't have any more babies at home. In some ways that's great. It means no more diapers and nobody's chewing on wires - because _wow_ was that ever a bad thing - but on the other hand I don't have that sweet little toddler holding onto me and wanting to cuddle anymore."

"Kindergarten or not, Nate's still happy to cuddle with you, Felicity," Oliver points out, smoothing his hands down her arms.

"I know," she agrees. "I know. But soon enough he's going to be in fourth grade like Ellie, more interested in the playground than me. And then he'll be in seventh like Jules and on his phone all the time, giving me one-word answers without even listening to my questions. And then he'll be 19 like Will and off to college with a whole life I'm barely a part of. It all just goes so fast and I can't slow it down. I'm not ready to give up my baby. Not yet."

"Oh, Felicity," he sighs, pulling her into his arms as she fights back a sniffle. "He's _five_ , honey. He's not going off to college yet. Don't rush things. He's still your baby. He'll _always_ be your baby."

"What if he wasn't?" she asks. It comes out as little more than a nervous whisper of breath, but she knows he hears it because he stops rubbing his hand over her back. She pulls back slightly, but doesn't leave his embrace as she looks up at him. There's a wary sense of confusion painted over his features and it's that that pushes her forward. "Oliver… I want another baby."

Everything stops.

In her head, she'd kind of built up an idea of what Oliver's reaction would be like to this idea. Lord knows she's run through the conversation in her mind more than enough times in the last few days. For some reason, she'd decided he'd immediately agree, that he'd smile softly and kiss her and tell her that he'd love to make another baby with her. She had not expected him to hesitate, swallow hard and watch her with eyes awash in sadness.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" she asks, picking nervously at a spot on his sleeve. "Another little person made up of bits of you and me? One we planned for entirely because we wanted it without someone telling us it was fated? I want that, Oliver."

"I… don't," he says a bit brokenly.

His initial reaction had been obvious enough where he stood on this idea, but hearing it aloud is still too much and she tries to pull away. He won't let her, though, not on a first attempt and she doesn't make a second. But she also can't look at him, not right now with a strange sense of grief and loss drowning her. In truth, she's lost nothing but an idea, a dream, but it had felt so real in her head. This past week, since the idea first dawned on her, she'd started envisioning it all with such clarity. She could almost hear those babyish giggles and smell that newborn scent. And now, quite suddenly, it's just… gone.

"Another baby wouldn't solve this, Felicity," he tells her. She barely hears him, nodding at her toes instead. "In six years we'd be right back here all over again."

"I'm not worried about what happens in six years," she says in a hushed voice.

"Sure you are," he counters. That actually prompts her to look up at him. The sympathy there actually hurts. It feels like pity and she hates that, but she also knows it's from a loving place and that he hates he's making her feel this way. "You're worried about when Nate's Ellie's age or Jules' age or Will's. You're already thinking ahead."

"They're growing up too fast," she says. Her voice is intense, emphatic, like she needs this point to be understood. But Oliver already knows this, already agrees. He nods in return with a quiet "I know."

"We can't slow them down, Felicity," he tells her. "And adding another baby to the mix wouldn't change that. Nate would still be in kindergarten and Ellie would still be closing in on middle school and Jules would still be wearing makeup and looking at boys in ways I'm really not ready for."

"Wouldn't it be nice, though?" she asks. If it sounds a little desperate, she can't find it in her to feel bad about that. "First words and first steps and first foods all over again?"

"Honey… I'm 42-years-old," he points out hesitantly. "Will's nearly the age I was when he was born. If you wound up pregnant again, I would love any child we had together, but it's not a choice I would make at this point in our lives. I'd be in my 60s before that kid went off to college. It's never been just you and me. We've had kids together since before we were even a couple. Someday, I'd like to just have us. And I don't really want to wait until I'm 60 for that."

That's when she breaks and the tears start. Because it makes _sense_. Because she knows he's right. And because those reasons are entirely valid. But she can still see that sweet little baby's face, the imaginary child, fade away in her mind's eye. And, just like watching Nate run away from her with a new friend to check out a fish tank, it makes her want to hold on harder.

"I'm not ready to let go," she chokes out. He's making soothing noises and pulling her close again, but it doesn't do as much to ease her breaking heart as it usually would.

"You don't have to," he tells her. "Not of Nate and the girls or even Will. You're still their mom. Nate going to school doesn't change that. They're always going to need you. It might look a little different as they get bigger, but that doesn't make you any less important in their lives, honey."

"I miss having a baby," she says brokenly.

"I know," he replies. "Part of me does, too. But we're past that. And that's okay because where we're at now is great, too. I think we need to stop looking ahead and worrying and stop looking behind us and lingering there. We need to focus on right now, enjoying where we're at with our family. Because, Felicity, it's pretty great and I don't want to miss that by wishing it were something else."

"Yeah," she agrees. "You're right. I know you're right."

"We've been busy lately," he tells her. "Between the mess with Hangman leaving bodies all over uptown and QI fighting off Palmer's attempt at a takeover, we haven't taken enough time for us. I think that's part of this. We can't go anywhere while Hangman keeps stringing up city councilman and union leaders. And, I know you need to fend off Palmer. But after that's out of the way, I think we should get away together for a bit. All six of us."

"I don't know if a vacation is going to make this better, Oliver," she tells him warily. It feels so much deeper than that.

"I think it will," he counters. "Because this isn't about you wanting something you don't have, Felicity. Not really. It's about wanting that connection with your kids. You feel like you're losing them because they're getting bigger. But you're not. Not really. I think we need some time as a family just being together to drive that home."

"Okay," she agrees. She might not really believe him, but it also sounds like a really good idea and she's definitely willing to give it a shot. "Okay. Where should we go?"

"Think the kids would like skiing?" he asks.

"I think Nate would like cocoa in a ski lodge, anyhow," Felicity hedges. "I'm not sure I can see him on skis."

"Maybe snowshoes," Oliver admits. "But Ellie would love it. And Jules, too, I think."

"Will would probably spend the entire time flirting with a ski instructor," Felicity says with a small laugh. It tastes a little foreign after the shock of grief that had surged through her, but it's also real. And healing. And it gives weight to Oliver's idea because if just _imagining_ this trip makes things a little lighter, wouldn't actually taking it help more?

"Definitely," Oliver agrees with a rueful shake of his head. "He'll have some girl snuggled up in front of the fireplace at the lodge, but he'll still spend half his time skiing with Jules and Ellie."

"Well, he's simultaneously a college boy and the best big brother ever, so…" Felicity shrugs.

"He is," Oliver agrees. "He really is. He's also me at that age, but he's got a better head on his shoulders than I ever did."

"Well, maybe that's because he's got you for a dad," Felicity suggests. "You _are_ a pretty amazing father."

"It's not like I do it alone," he tells her, his hands rubbing her back again. "We're a team, honey. And in Will's case, he's got his mom and David, too. We all do this together. Whether they're five or 19 or 40, someday… we're still their parents. They're still going to need us, even if it looks a little different. Age doesn't change that. Nothing does."

Felicity's mind flits to her own mother and how very small and vulnerable she'd felt when her mom had been fighting cancer. Even as a full-grown adult with three children of her own and a step-son she considers one of her own, she'd felt so much like a child in those days. She can't imagine not needing her mother, at least on some level, and deep down she knows the same is true for her children.

"Besides," Oliver notes, the hint of a smile lighting up his eyes. "It probably won't be _that_ long before there are grandkids."

"Bite your tongue," Felicity says immediately in horror.

Oliver laughs openly at that. "Will's 19 and girl crazy," he points out. "He's not ready to settle down anytime soon, but if you're so worried about six years from now…"

"Will is a little boy with a toothy smile and a too-big baseball glove in my head, Oliver," she insists. "He walks in this house taller than me and all muscled and stocky and I do a double-take every time because who the hell is this man standing in my kitchen and where did he come from? I'm not ready for grandkids. I'm not even 40 yet."

"I think you've got a few years to get used to the idea," Oliver grins. "But if you miss babies… that's probably something worth considering."

" _Our_ babies, Oliver. _Ours_. That was a key point, in case you missed it," she says poking his chest. "Not grandkids. I'm gonna need you to stop with that talk because that's just… Our children are not having sex yet."

Oliver can't smother his laugh at that and he doesn't even try. "Honey… if you think Will isn't-"

" _Stop_!" she repeats emphatically. "Little boy with a toothy smile and a baseball glove."

"Well… he still has the glove, anyhow," Oliver shrugs.

"You're killing me, Oliver," she groans. "That's my little boy you're talking about."

He pauses at that, the smile on his face slipping into something less amused and more tinged with wonder as he brushes her hair behind her ear. "Have I told you lately how grateful I am that you immediately opened your heart up to him as one of your own?"

"How could I not?" she asks immediately. She can't fathom it having gone any other way. "He's part of you, Oliver. Of course I did. And he's been a wonderful child from the moment we met him. Of course I love him like one of my own. He _is_ one of my own."

Oliver leans in and kisses her then, a soft, cherishing press of his lips to hers. It lingers in a way that breathes unity and heart right into her. There's nothing about it that escalates. This isn't about sex or the physicality of the love between them. This is about the solid emotional bond that was forged between them so long ago and only seems to have grown stronger over the years.

When they part he rests his forehead against hers, and she's content to live in this moment, just savoring the closeness between them.

"We can talk again about a baby in six months," he says, surprising her. "I'm not going to change my mind on this, but if you're still really wanting another one after that long, I'm willing to consider it."

"No," she sighs. "I don't want another baby unless we both really want it. That wouldn't be fair to either of us or to the baby. If you change your mind that's one thing, but…"

"I'm not going to, honey," he tells her, even if he does sound a little sad about it. "Maybe a few years ago, but now… I just don't want to start over again. I want to spend more time with the family we have already. Let's teach Ellie and Jules to ski, build an igloo with Nate and shake our heads at Will flirting with ski instructors."

"Okay," she concedes. "After you've stopped Hangman."

"After I've stopped Hangman," he agrees.

It takes three more months before that happens, but once it does they spend a week upstate with the kids. Jules is a natural at skiing but Ellie spends more time falling on the bunny slopes than on any actual runs. Nate looks like a snowman himself, bundled up in so many layers he can barely move. But he _does_ seem to love building that igloo. If she accidentally catches Will in a really compromising position with one of the ski instructors… well, Oliver will laugh about it later because he totally called it.

And when that six-month mark rolls around, they don't have another conversation about a baby. She still finds herself looking at infants now and then, thinking that it could have been theirs, thinking about how much she'd have liked another one. But, in the end, their family is already pretty perfect the way it already is and - ultimately - she wouldn't change a thing.


	29. November 2021

**November 2021**

After six months of weighing the pros and cons, Oliver and Felicity had settled on public school for their girls, but that hadn't happened without a whole lot of debate.

Oliver's experiences at Starling City Prep alone had been enough to make him wary. The sheer number of classmates whose parents had wound up on his list was a definite indicator that _something_ was wrong there that standardized tests could never measure. They'd toured a few private schools anyhow, all of them more than happy to welcome the Queen family and the Queen money. But, looking around, the demographic had been so incredibly narrow. Felicity hadn't seen the awards on the walls or the state of the art equipment. All she'd seen were the kids. She felt like she was watching children of Stepford wives and she couldn't, for all their money, imagine Jules fitting in here.

Security had been the biggest factor in seriously considering private school, something she's taken even more seriously since local party leadership had approached Oliver about running for the soon-to-be vacated state representative seat. He still says he's not sure if he'll do it, but she is. She knows her husband. He'll run. She's kind of surprised he hasn't reached that conclusion himself yet, but he'll get there.

They're very high profile, will be even more so when he runs for office, and they both worry about the media hounding their kids. They're a curiosity to the public and they know it. And, the press has proven time and again that they don't care about boundaries.

So, they'd gone back and forth as he trained in the lair or when she managed to get away from the office to meet him for lunch. Neither one of them had been certain on what to do until one day Felicity had sighed and said "Oliver, if public schools aren't safe enough for our girls, what are we even doing in this lair? You don't save a city by removing yourself from it."

And that had done it.

They'd registered Jules at Three Oaks Elementary the next day and - in the first year and a half Jules has gone there - Felicity's only complaint has been the lack of any oaks whatsoever on the premises.

Honestly, it's a highly misleading name.

There have been a few incidents she and Oliver have been called in for, but it's mostly been due to Jules, not the school. Their little girl has something of a temper and there's been the occasional playground tussle that's left one kid or another in tears - usually not her. When she gets angry, she lashes out and when she gets hurt, she shuts down. The older Jules gets, the more of herself Felicity sees in the little girl. Or, the way she _used_ to be, anyhow, before she'd learned the hard way that she wasn't doing herself any favors. Some nights she lies awake, trying to figure out a way to help Jules grow up without making the same mistakes she did. All she gets for her effort is frustration, though.

"She'll find her own way, honey _._ Get some sleep," Oliver tells her on a regular basis, his voice only half awake as he curls his arm around her and pulls her closer, pressing his lips to her hair.

It soothes her, but she can't help worrying, wanting _better_ for her daughter. Maybe that's just what being a mother is. Maybe she'll always want more for her children, want things to be easier, happier for them.

There haven't been any midday calls about behavior so far this year, though, so maybe things are improving. She's anxious to see what Jules' teachers have to say at the parent-teacher conference today.

"Where's Ellie?" Jules asks, exiting the front doors of the school and looking around like maybe the three-year-old is about to pop out of the bushes or something. It's not an unfair thought, really. Ellie is absurdly active, hiding and climbing and running absolutely _everywhere_. What they'd been thinking when they'd bought a four-story brownstone to raise their children in, Felicity can't remember at this point, but those stairs have surely given her calves she's insanely proud of after running up and down them to the girls' rooms umpteen times a day.

It's gonna be a whole lot harder in the next few months.

Her stomach rolls as if on cue and she pushes back a wave of nausea. She's only two months along with her newest pregnancy and they've told no one yet, but that's getting harder and harder with a morning sickness that's really an all-day sickness.

"She's with Grandma Donna," Felicity tells the little girl, trying to force herself to feel centered. It sort of works. Jules doesn't notice. The six-year-old just shifts slightly, adjusting the frayed strap of her backpack. She'd refused to get a new one this year and had kept her battered _Priscilla the Pirate Princess_ bag from kindergarten. "I have a meeting with your teachers today, remember?"

"Oh yeah…" Jules says, her brow furrowing a little. Some days Felicity would give anything to read her little girl's thoughts, but even as a first-grader Jules keeps things to herself. It's not that she's quiet, exactly, but she's something of a closed book at times and getting her to share what she's feeling is like pulling teeth. "Am I going too?"

"No," Felicity tells her, taking the little girl's hand as they walk back into the school against the crush of kids pouring out. It's like fighting to go upstream against a huge school - Ha! _School_ … that's appropriate - of minnows. "We're meeting Digg and Sara on the playground. He and I are taking turns with our conferences and watching you two."

"Okay," Jules agrees. She leaves it at that. She and Sara get along just fine, but they aren't especially close in spite of how much time they spend with each other. It had surprised Felicity, really, and disappointed her a bit, not that she'd ever tell Jules that. But Sara is an interactive and imaginative extrovert while Jules is happier playing hopscotch by herself or drawing with chalk than playing make-believe with Sara.

"How was school?" Felicity asks as the throng of children gives way to an empty hallway.

"Fine," Jules tells her. It's a standard reply and Felicity bites back a sigh because would a little detail _kill_ her?

"What did you do today?" she prods, giving the girl a nudge.

"Played on the playground," the little girl supplies.

Long conversations with Lyla and her own mother have assured her that this is every child ever's response to what they did in school and it's not just Jules being tight-lipped.

"And I had art lit," Jules adds, surprising her and pulling her attention. "I liked that," she follows up in a near whisper.

It's a huge admission from Jules. For as loud as she can be sometimes, for how brash she comes off, it's the quiet things she says that are the most meaningful.

"Art lit?" Felicity asks.

"Yeah," Jules agrees. She bites her lip and looks up with a little half shrug. "Art literacy. We learn about lots of artists and paint and stuff. I like it. It's fun."

 _Two_ 'I like it' declarations from Jules in as many minutes is fairly unprecedented and Felicity can sense how important that is, but she's so thrown by it that she doesn't immediately know how to respond beyond a, "Good… that's great."

There's an uneasiness about Jules, and Felicity lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her, tugging her closer instead of answering in words. Jules never looks up when she does this, but she does lean in closer, like she wants the affection but doesn't want to admit to wanting it. That only makes Felicity want to hold onto her more, but she knows this little girl so very well and she's well aware that holding on too tight will only mean Jules pulls away harder.

"Christmas and Hanukkah are right around the corner," she points out after a minute. "Art supplies might make a nice gift to ask for."

"That'd be nice," Jules agrees, looking up almost shyly. "Maybe Santa could bring me an easel?"

Yes… yes, he absolutely will. Felicity's decided this before the words are even finished passing through Jules' lips. Her daughter doesn't ask for much, never begs for candy or toys. When she does express wanting something, it's exactly like this - an almost embarrassed request, like she doesn't like admitting to _wanting_ anything.

"I bet the elves could manage that," Felicity reassures her.

Jules' cheeks turn a pleased, ruddy hue as she bites back a smile. Her skin is so fair and her hair so dark that it stands out brightly in contrast. She's so very beautiful when she's happy and Felicity finds herself taking a mental snapshot of the way she smiles at her toes. It's such a rare moment to see that kind of unabashed joy on her little girl's face and she's going to savor it for all it's worth.

 _A lot_. It's worth a lot.

Despite slowing her gait to lengthen the moment, they reach the doors to the playground soon enough and she can already see Digg playing with Sara, both of them making their way across the monkey bars. It's _ridiculous_. Even with his legs bent, Digg's knees nearly brush the ground.

"You're gonna break that thing," she shouts over to him. He lets go with one hand to wave at her.

"It's okay," he counters. "You'll just buy the school a new one."

She _would_ , but she'd really rather not highlight exactly how much money she and Oliver have donated to inner city schools this past year. A lot. It's _a lot_ , even to them. She doesn't regret it in the least, but it's incredibly hard to stay anonymous.

"How's it going, Jules?" Digg calls over.

"Fine," Jules responds - back to her customary answer - as she starts towards the swings.

"Hold up, little miss," Felicity announces, hands on her hips as Jules stops and looks at her expectantly. "Don't I get a hug or anything?"

Jules smiles, shakes her head like she's humoring her mother and runs back for a quick hug. Or, at least she means for it to be quick. But Felicity holds on tightly and kisses the top of the little girl's head.

" _Mom_ ," Jules laughs with a long-suffering sigh. Felicity lets her go and she scurries off toward the playground, calling out hello to Sara and tossing her bookbag onto the mulch-covered ground before climbing up onto a swing and pumping her legs.

"Have fun, Julie-bug," Felicity calls out before checking her watch and looking to Digg. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Take your time," Digg tells her, which is code for ' _we both know sometimes meetings about Jules run long.'_ "We've got half an hour before my meeting."

Felicity breathes a sigh of relief at that and blows Jules a kiss before turning and walking into the building. If someone had told her eight years ago how thoroughly intertwined her life would get with the handsome man who lied so terribly as he asked for her help and his quiet, hulking bodyguard, she's pretty sure she'd have laughed in their face. But from parent-teacher conferences to infiltrating organized crime conferences, she, Digg and Oliver have each other's backs in every possible way. Others have been added to the mix of Team Arrow since then, of course, chiefly Lyla and Roy, but the core of the team remains as solid and unchanged as ever. She's so intensely grateful for that some days that it astounds her.

Making her way into Mr. Clarke's classroom, she's practically assaulted by a blinding splash of primary colors. It makes her eyes hurt and her head spin a bit, but she knows enough to brace for it by now. Kindergarten had been much the same. She'd expected that. What she hadn't expected, however, is more than one teacher greeting her.

"Hi…" she says in a long, drawn out word as the two teachers stand and smile, gesturing for her to come in.

"Mrs. Queen, come in," Mr. Clarke says.

"Felicity, please," she corrects, as she does every single time. She will always be proud to be a Queen, to be Oliver's wife, but if there's one place she doesn't want all the weight that comes with her last name, it's here. In this space, she's not a CEO, not the mayor's daughter-in-law, she's just Jules' mother.

"Felicity," he amends, but he still looks at her like he knows she's the reason the computer labs have all new machines. "This is Mrs. Perrins. She's our art teacher here. You may not have met her before."

"No," Felicity agrees, putting down her purse and shaking the woman's hand. "It's good to meet you. Jules was just telling me how much she enjoys art class."

"Oh, no, it's a pleasure to meet _you_ , Mrs. Queen," the art teacher says. Felicity bites back a sigh at the losing battle for the use of her first name. "Your daughter is an absolute delight."

That has Felicity pausing mid-handshake. Jules is a whole lot of things and Felicity loves her little girl with her whole heart, but she's not certain she's ever had anyone refer to her as a 'delight' before.

"Thank you," she manages, through her surprise.

"I wanted to be here at this meeting because I just had to ask you where you had her studying art," Mrs. Perrins says.

Felicity's thrown off kilter by this because... _what_? Her eyes shift from Mrs. Perrins to Mr. Clarke and back again. Both of them look at her expectantly and she fumbles as she responds with a fantastically ineloquent "What?" Her brain really hasn't gotten beyond that word, yet.

"Her grasp is so far beyond the fundamentals," Mrs. Perrins expands, flooring Felicity a bit more. "Obviously she's in a position to be exposed to some tremendous art" - Felicity can practically feel her smile tighten in place because this woman is saying ' _you have money and I know it'_ even if that's not what she's saying - "but her instruction has obviously been so very effective and I have one or two other students who might benefit from some extra art instruction outside of school. I'd like to recommend whomever her other teacher is."

"That's not…" Felicity starts, flustered and starting to feel a babble coming on. "There isn't one. She takes dance and she went to daycare at my office, but she's not… we've never had her in an art class. I haven't even taken her to an art museum. Should I take her to an art museum? Is that a thing you do with six-year-olds?"

With the way Mrs. Perrins' eyes bug out, you'd have thought Felicity had told her they were funding an effort to rebuild the school out of cheese or something.

"I beg your pardon?" the art teacher asks.

"She's never been in an art class," Felicity says again, looking between the two instructors. "She's good?"

"Mrs. Queen…" Mrs. Perrins says, shaking her head a bit. "She's a great deal more than 'good.'"

"...Really?" Felicity asks, because this isn't sinking in. Jules isn't much for coloring. It's usually been Ellie who's presented them with scribbles for the fridge. If her daughter is some kind of art prodigy, isn't that something she should have _known_?

"We've been studying a different artist every week," Mrs Perrins tells her. "Discussing their styles and what makes them noteworthy. Then I have the children try to emulate their approach to art. Most of them can grasp use of shapes or color, to some extent. Jules is lightyears beyond them. She hones in on brush strokes and patterns and shading. And she can explain why she's doing it! She is, by far, the most gifted art student I have ever taught."

Felicity is pretty sure she looks a bit like a fish, standing there slack jawed and blinking at the teachers. What a wonderful impression she's making.

"She's _six_." It's the only thought that's clear in her head.

"Imagine, with the right instruction and practice, what she'll be like by sixteen," Mrs. Perrins adds in astonishment. "I brought some examples of her best work, if you'd care to see?"

"God, yes, of course," Felicity replies, flustered and suddenly desperate for this extra glimpse into her little girl's life.

Admittedly, Felicity knows very little about art. It's never been her interest, but her life these days means she's attended enough charity events to be able to identify a few of the more well known artist's works on sight. Mrs. Perrins narrates for her why each painting is exceptional, but Felicity tunes her out almost entirely.

She doesn't need to hear that. She sees it.

Jules isn't just good. She's _incredible_.

She's still young, of course, and that shows, too. But Felicity can look at these paintings and she can see which ones are modeled after Picasso, Degas, Monet, van Gogh, Klimt… When the teacher's words register dimly, moments after they were spoken, she can see more details, too. The way Jules used shading here or blended her own colors there, the use of perspective and focal points, the technique. She seems to have grabbed the basics of so effortlessly.

"Jules did these?"

She probably interrupted the teacher, but she can't even hear the words coming out of the other woman's mouth. She's just so astonished, so impressed.

"She did," Mrs. Perrins nods, looking incredibly pleased. A surge of tremendous pride washes over Felicity as she looks back down at the piece in her hand, a self-portrait in the style of Frida Kahlo. "Mrs. Queen… I can't overemphasize how incredible her work is for someone of her age. Her grasp of the basics is so very impressive. If she has the time, I'd like to work with her some after school a few days a week."

Felicity's nodding before she even realizes she's doing it. "She has dance twice a week but if she wants to, I think that's a great idea. She's obviously doing well under your instruction and she likes working with you… I'll e-mail you and we'll work out the details."

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. They talk about other things, socialization being the biggest problem, which comes as no surprise at all. She's doing well at math, but lags in reading. She doesn't always follow the rules and often doesn't finish her class assignments on time. But, Felicity knew all that and she finds herself staring at the pile of paintings in her hands more than listening to Mr. Clarke.

It takes a moment for her to realize he's stopped talking and she looks up somewhat bashfully to find him smiling at her.

"I'm so sorry," she scrambles, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. "I swear I care very, very much about all of Jules' schooling, I just… I didn't expect…"

"To be told your daughter is an exceptionally gifted art prodigy," he finishes for her. "Yes, I imagine that would be something of a shock."

"It's just… she barely even colors at home," Felicity says.

Mr. Clarke opens his mouth to say something but shuts it just as quickly with a soft sigh and a quiet smile. Felicity has the distinct feeling that he's holding something back and she's not about to let that stand.

"If you're not saying something because I'm big bad Mrs. Queen, please, _please_ don't," she near begs. "I swear I'm only scary in the boardroom… or occasionally with my mother-in-law. I'm just Jules' mom and I promise that whatever you want to say, I want to hear it."

He recalculates right in front of her eyes and for the first time since she stepped into his class, she finds she feels like she's just another parent to him. _Thank god._

"Jules is more reserved than most kids," he tells her. "There's nothing wrong with that, but she's obviously not comfortable expressing herself. She's a private person, even with you. She is in class, too. I'm not surprised to hear she loves art and dance, but I'm also not surprised that she doesn't often share it. She's the kind of person who craves approval, but hates to admit she wants it."

Yes… that sounds very much like her little girl.

"I think she'd benefit a lot from hearing how impressed you are with her art. I think she needs to hear that a lot about any way she chooses to express herself," he elaborates. "It doesn't come easily to her."

"Of course," Felicity says, nodding hard in agreement as his words soak in. "Thank you. Sometimes it's hard… she acts like she doesn't care…"

"She does," Mr. Clarke assures her. "I think your approval means more to her than anything else in the whole world. That's why she's so scared to ask for it."

"But I've never…" Worry floods through her again for the _millionth_ time. She knows, logically, that Jules can't remember how bad her mother's postpartum depression was after she'd been born. She can't possibly recall how gutted Felicity had been to realize she'd been secretly hoping her daughter would be Ellie, just born earlier, and how very inadequate she felt in the face of motherhood, how much she'd believed Jules deserved someone better than her as a mom. Those first few months were so very hard, but that's all it had been - a few months. Well before Jules had even been crawling, things improved dramatically.

Still… she can't help but fear that her own initial distance from her daughter had created the foundation for her little girl's often closed-off nature. "Has she said anything? Does she think I'm not proud of her? That she doesn't have my approval?"

"No," Mr. Clarke counters. "No, this isn't you. It's just part of who Jules is. She's a wonderful little girl. Really, she is. And while she's a bit behind in some areas of class, I have no doubt she'll catch up. But she's not someone who shows vulnerability easily. It scares her. And she needs your support and encouragement even when she acts like it doesn't matter."

A sense of resolve works its way through Felicity's body and she finds herself standing, extending her free hand to the teacher and shaking firmly.

"Mr. Clarke… _thank you_." She hopes there's enough emphasis in her voice to convince him she means it. "I appreciate your candor very much. Now, I think we've gone over time and I'm sure you have another parent waiting outside… and I need to go remind my daughter how very proud of her I am."

He nods approvingly. "I think that's an excellent idea, Mrs. Queen."

"Please, call me Felicity," she asks again.

"Not likely to happen, Mrs. Queen," he smiles.

She huffs and shakes her head as she walks out of the room. A mom she doesn't recognize hovers outside the door - she was right, she'd been holding Mr. Clarke up from his next meeting - but she barely offers an apologetic glance. She's too entranced by her little girl's art for much more than that.

It's beyond her. That's the crazy thing. She looks at it and it's pretty… she can see the effort, the emotion put into it, the dedication. But this is something she could never do, can scarcely even understand. Her idea of art is a string of beautifully written code.

Luckily, her feet know the way to the playground by heart and she winds up there without thinking about it. Pushing through the doors, she finally looks up from the art in her hand to glance around. It's a gorgeous day, cold but clear. Sara's found a pair of twin brothers to play with, the three of them kicking a ball around the field. Jules is playing hopscotch off to the side. Digg leans up against the wall next to the door, watching them both.

"Sorry, that got kind of long," Felicity apologizes, wincing as he gives her an amused smile.

"Can't say I'm surprised," he replies dryly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah…" Felicity responds, looking over at Jules, then down to the papers in her hand before meeting Digg's eyes again. "Turns out my daughter's a genius."

"Well of course she is," Digg grins broadly. "She's _your_ kid, Felicity."

She bumps his shoulder good-naturedly with hers. He's like a brick wall, though, and she sort of rebounds off of him and has to catch herself. He doesn't even _bother_ to try to hide his laugh at that.

 _Rude_.

"I've got the girls," she tells him. "Your meeting is in like thirty seconds or something, isn't it?"

"More like five minutes, but you're right. I should get going," Digg agrees. "I'll just go say goodbye to Sara. Be back in a bit."

Felicity hums in agreement and gives a little wave as he walks off toward the field where his daughter's playing. For her part, she's drawn to Jules. The six year old bends down, scoops up the rock she's been using for her game and stands back up, ready to toss it again when she spots her mother.

"Hi, Momma," she says. "Are you all done with your meeting?"

She looks nervous, like she's expecting to be told something's wrong or she's not good enough, and for the life of her Felicity can't understand where this comes from with her little girl, but she wishes more than anything else in the world that she could make her more secure.

"All done," Felicity replies, smiling back at the girl. "And do you know what I found out?"

"What?" Jules asks, wariness and tension taking over her tiny frame. God, she looks so much like Oliver sometimes. More like she remembers him back when they first met than he is now, but the likeness is uncanny, in spite of the fact that she physically looks a great deal more like her mother.

"That _you_ … are a pretty awesome kid," Felicity tells her glibly. "But, I told Mr. Clarke I already knew that."

Jules raises both eyebrows and cocks her head to the side in a disbelieving look that's pure Thea Queen shining through, but like when her Aunt Thea does it, Felicity can see the happiness beneath it.

"C'mere a second. Sit with me?" Felicity requests as she tilts her head toward a nearby park bench. Jules drops the rock and follows. She sits immediately by her mother's side, but Felicity hauls the little girl up onto her lap instead. That'll be a whole lot harder to do in the near future, but her pregnancy is nowhere near showing and Felicity is going to relish the presence of an actual lap while she still has one.

"I'm not a baby," Jules protests, even as she leans into her mother more.

"Nonsense," Felicity replies, wrapping an arm around Jules' tiny body and kissing her soundly on the cheek with a loud pop. "You're _my_ baby."

" _Mom_ ," Jules half-groans, half-laughs, wiping at her cheek.

"It's true," Felicity tells her, glancing briefly toward Sara to make sure she's still happily occupied. "And you know what else I found out about my baby today?"

"That she's _almost seven_ and too big for sitting on your lap at school?" Jules challenges.

So much sass with this girl, good lord. She can practically hear Oliver making his opinion known about which side of the family tree _that_ came from. Frankly, he doesn't give Thea enough credit in Felicity's opinion. The Dearden genes are strong with both of their girls.

"No," Felicity replies primly. "I definitely did not learn that yet."

"Don't you think you should?" Jules deadpans.

"Hush, you," Felicity chastises lightly. "We're having a moment here."

"Fine, sorry," Jules replies. It doesn't escape Felicity in the least that her daughter is all talk. If anything, the little girl's leaning more heavily against her and there's absolutely no mistaking the happy pink glow to her cheeks. "Go on."

"Thank you," Felicity tells her. "So today, _I_ learned that _you_ are even more amazing than I thought you were."

Jules snorts in disbelief.

"It's true," Felicity tells her.

"Okay, Momma," Jules rolls her eyes.

"No, really," Felicity insists. "So, check this out." She holds up the art in her free hand and Jules' whole demeanor changes. The good-natured, easy-going thing they'd had quickly shifts and her little girl is a bundle of anxiety and nerves. "You - my friend - are a really, _really_ incredible budding artist."

Jules gulps, bites her lip and scarcely glances up at her mother before her eyes drop back down to the paintings.

"It's… it's just painting," she says after a moment.

And, _oh_ , it's painful how much this means to her. Felicity can see it all over her daughter's face, but for whatever reason, the girl has such a hard time believing it when others see the best in her.

"Honey… this isn't just art," Felicity tells her. "At least, not to me."

That catches Jules' attention, probably because it shifts the focus off of her and she's only ever comfortable being in the spotlight when it's about something she doesn't take seriously.

"What is it to you?" she ventures. Those big, ice-blue eyes of hers project every last thing she's feeling and there's no guessing how big this split second in time is for the two of them. Felicity knows to the depth of her soul that she needs to make this moment count, for both of them.

"It's _you_ ," she tells Jules. "That's why it's amazing, because you are. And that's why I love it, because I love you."

She pauses as she sees the cracks in Jules' facade. There's a tiny triumph that wells up inside her at the idea that this is actually getting through to her little girl, but she's not done yet.

"I can see how hard you worked on these, how much focus and dedication you put into them," Felicity tells her. "And it's amazing. It's better than I could do."

"Momma…" Jules says in disbelief.

"It's _true_ ," Felicity tells her firmly. And she means it. Jules must recognize that because her face turns thoughtful again and those cracks in her demeanor start to widen into chasms. "Jules, you put so much of yourself in these paintings, into your dancing... It's beautiful to see. I really love it. I think it's brave."

That perks Jules' interest further. She looks like she's weighing the truth of her mother's words. Felicity can't remember the last time Jules took _anything_ at face value and it doesn't surprise her that this is no different.

"Daddy's brave," she declares. "And Uncle Digg. This is just some paint."

"There's all kinds of bravery," Felicity tells her, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is nearby. "It isn't always jumping off of rooftops. Sometimes bravery is just letting people see who you are on the inside. That's what you did here. That's what you do when you dance. And I love that about you, Jules. I love how much of yourself you give to your work, even when it's hard, even when it's scary. I think that's something very special about you."

Jules flushes at that and presses her cheek against her mother's shoulder. It's a cuddle. It's an actual _cuddle_ from her older daughter. Felicity sets the art down next to her on the bench and wraps both arms around her little girl, letting her eyes slip shut as she rests her cheek atop Jules' head. She has never been a cuddler, never been much for open affection at all. Felicity can still remember the sinking feeling of disappointment when Jules had been three and advised her she really didn't like doing the cocoon, that she'd rather fall asleep in her own bed 'like a big girl.'

" _She's not Ellie, honey_ ," Oliver had told her softly after they'd bid Jules goodnight and headed back to their own bedroom.

And she'd known that. She _had_ , but she'd also never been prepared for how different her daughters would be - she hadn't understood - and her expectations had fallen flat more than once.

Ellie has always been so openly affectionate, so very loving. The difference in their demeanors has left Felicity wondering, in her darkest moments, if her older daughter even likes her at all.

But this… oh, this is different. This steals her breath and makes her want to hold on with everything she has.

"Thanks, Momma," Jules mutters against her collarbone in an almost unheard voice that's muffled by her coat. "Love you, too."

Felicity's throat clogs and tears well up in her eyes as her fingers sift through the girl's silky straight dark hair. Without even thinking about it, she finds she's rocking them slightly, the way Ellie had liked when she was just a baby, but had so rarely soothed Jules. The little girl - and she is still a little girl, though she tries to act so big and so strong - tucks her legs up, her whole body finding the security and warmth of her mother's lap, and her fingers curl into the edge of Felicity's coat, like she's holding on because she _wants_ to.

It would be impossible for Felicity to be more grateful that she'd taken the afternoon off of work for a parent-teacher conference.

But the moment ends - as moments do - when Jules pulls back and offers up the softest smile imaginable. It feels like the most fragile and tentative of bonds forms right there and Felicity wants to grab onto it with both hands and handle it as gently as possible for fear of destroying it.

"I'm glad you like it," Jules tells her. "If I draw some with the chalk… would you maybe want to see it?"

"Absolutely," Felicity tells her emphatically without even thinking about it. Something lights up in Jules' eyes at both the speed and decisiveness of her answer. "I'd love to."

"Okay," Jules says, sliding off of her mother's lap and smiling before running over to grab some chalk and sitting cross-legged with an intense look of concentration on her beautiful little face.

She could watch this forever, Felicity realizes. She could soak in this brilliant, quietly happy look lighting up her little girl's eyes for the rest of her life and be so very happy about it.

It's so entrancing, so absolutely captivating that she doesn't even register Digg's back until his hand sets down on her shoulder. She jolts, looks up at him in surprise and wipes just beneath her eye with the back of her hand. It comes back dry, but she knows that's just timing. A few moments ago, it wouldn't have.

"Everything good?" Digg asks, concern plays out across his face as he takes in the sight of no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

Her eyes dart back to her daughter and Jules shoots her an honest to god smile. Felicity finds herself grinning back in return.

"No, actually," she replies, looking up to Digg. "Everything's absolutely perfect."


	30. July 2035 - After the Gala

July 2035

There are days Oliver feels every single day of his age. Today would be one of them.

If you'd asked him back during his time on Lian Yu how he'd feel at fifty, he'd have laughed and said long dead. He hadn't known in those days if he'd make it through the night, much less to his next birthday - or even when, exactly, that day was. He definitely wasn't concerned with the realities of aging. Now, it's a bit different. His body doesn't take the punishments of his life nearly as easily as it had in years prior. A long night fighting for the city leaves him more achy, more exhausted and with a longer rebound time. Digg might be less prone to jumping off rooftops than him, but Oliver knows it's got to be even worse for his old friend. After all, Digg has a solid eight years on him. More and more, lately, it's been little Sara at his side in the field, with Digg driving the van or running recon.

They haven't talked about it yet, but Oliver knows that's coming. And soon. Digg would never leave the team, but he's also facing the limits of his own body. Just as Oliver is. And it's not like that's going to get better.

But, nights like last night prove quite clearly how much they're still needed. A serial arsonist with a penchant for high-occupancy buildings had lit up four apartment complexes on the edge of the business district. It had been far more than the city could handle on its own and it'd wound up being an 'all hands on deck' Team Arrow situation. Even Ellie had joined in, much to Oliver's dismay, showing up on scene with a mask and a dark green bodysuit that had given him flashbacks to two decades prior standing in his mother's kitchen with a rip in time slicing open in front of him.

She's not ready for this. He's not ready for her to be ready for this. But she'd been a help last night, keeping a cool head and getting terrified people away from their fast-crumbling homes, organizing chaos in the streets, her very presence calming fast-spreading hysterics. She'd looked so like him, out there, so clearly a part of Team Arrow.

Jules had scoffed when she'd seen her sister's choice of outfit later. "Slick look, Dart," she'd snorted.

"Dart?" Ellie had asked defensively.

"Yeah," Jules had confirmed in a lofty tone. "Dart. Like a mini Arrow."

Ellie had not been thrilled at the new nickname, but Digg and Roy had overheard it and they'd both found it amusing, so Oliver's pretty sure it's gonna stick. Why Jules had been hanging around the lair while they'd been out on a mission is much bigger question. She's a busy young woman, these days. Between work and her boyfriend, who apparently she's a whole lot more serious about than he'd been led to believe, they don't see her that much and it's not like she's ever been all that interested in the family business - either one of them. But the more Oliver thinks about it, the more certain he is that she'd heard something about the fires and had just been worried about her family, had wanted to be in a position to know what was happening as it happened. Her snark toward her sister was relief covered up by sarcasm. He's almost sure of it.

And it's not like she'd been the only one relieved when the night ended. Oliver's eyes had sought out Will's firetruck the moment he'd gotten to the scene and it would be a complete lie to say he hadn't stayed as close to his son's location while helping out as he could. Will might be nearly 28, but he's still his son and Oliver doesn't think he'll ever be without the mixture of worry and pride that fills him at the thought of the life his oldest has chosen for himself. Seeing him all business, suited up and covered in ash as he carried a little girl from the building had put Oliver's heart in his throat. It's a hell of a thing watching your child run into a burning building, but he has a lot of faith in Will and he knows his worry is both natural and a little excessive. Will knows what he's doing.

Oliver's glad he gets to see him tonight, though. Rationally, he knows his boy is fine. Oliver had been on scene until after the fires were out and the danger had passed. Lyla had caught the arsonist - a metahuman from Central City who named himself Human Blowtorch - and everything was stable by sun-up. But Oliver still feels like he needs to see his son whole and hale. He's going to feel unsettled until he does.

"How's dinner coming?" Felicity asks, slipping her arms around her husband's waist and resting her chin against his upper arm. "It smells great."

"The salmon is ready to broil," Oliver tells her, abandoning his task of slicing up some zucchini and squash to lace his fingers with hers for a moment. "Rice is cooking. Just the veggies to sauté and some side salads to whip up."

"Need me to do anything?" she offers. It's sweet, but they both know better. School lunches she can make like an absolute pro. Her sandwich making skills are absolutely passable. But anything more involved than tossing something pre-made into the oven for a prescribed amount of time runs the risk of both food poisoning and a kitchen fire.

"Maybe check on the girls and Nate?" he suggests.

"Oliver…" she sighs.

"I know. They're fine. I know," he mutters, his cheeks flushing a little at the admission.

"Ellie's not going to stop," Felicity tells him. "You know that, right?"

"She's not even done with high school yet," Oliver points out.

"Oh, I know. If you think I'm fighting for my little girl to be a full blown vigilante at seventeen, you're misreading me," Felicity says sharply. "I'm talking controlled introduction here, Oliver. I don't want her in the field any more than you do, but maybe if we give her a role, a purpose, she'll feel included enough that she won't push for a bit. The last thing I want is her sneaking onto another mission again. That's a good way to get herself or someone else hurt."

"What did you have in mind?" Oliver asks with interest, tilting his head to watch her.

"A seat at my side," Felicity suggests. "Provided she keeps at least a B-average. If she's dead-set on doing this - and I think we both know she is - then at least she can watch some missions and learn that way. And, maybe we could include her in some of the planning stages, let her see how much goes into it."

That idea has some merit. Ellie's always had a space in the room, all the kids have. That's more been out of necessity than any desire to introduce the kids to their nightlives. But none of them have ever had a seat at the table. And the view looks different when you're a part of it.

"Half of the reason she's pushing so hard is that she knows Sara's out there," Oliver points out. "You know that right?"

"Yes, well… I don't see that changing anytime soon either," Felicity replies.

Oliver sighs heavily at that because it's absolutely undeniable, but he also wishes Ellie could get past her feelings for Sara. In a perfect world, where Sara returned those feelings, he'd be all for it. She's a great kid, his best friend's daughter, and Oliver just wants Ellie to be happy. There's no doubt in his mind that being with Sara would accomplish that. But Sara's both oblivious and apparently straight, and it hurts to watch his little girl pine for her best friend. He wants so much more for her than that.

"You're probably right," Oliver says, simultaneously addressing all of his wife's points. "We should talk with Digg, Lyla, and Roy about letting her help with some of the logistics, but I don't want to talk to her about it until the whole team is on board."

"And Sara," Felicity notes. "She's on the team now, too, remember."

"And Sara," he agrees quietly, shaking his head a bit. He still forgets sometimes. It had been just him, Felicity, Digg, Lyla, Roy, Sin and sometimes Big Sara for so long. Adding a new person to the mix feels wrong sometimes, but it's also Sara Diggle and that's different. It's also increasingly necessary, he thinks as he shifts his weight, his knee throbbing painfully.

He's done his best not to be obvious about the ache in his joints, but Felicity is highly attuned to him by now and he's not surprised in the least when she hums thoughtfully and gives him a knowing look.

"I took some Aleve," he promises her. "And I'll put a heat pad on it again after dinner."

"How about a doctor's appointment?" she asks sweetly. This is becoming an old conversation and it's not like she's wrong, but he also can't possibly keep off his knee long enough for replacement surgery recovery time. He can deal with the stiffness and the pain. It's more annoying than anything and it slows him down only very slightly. For now.

"Have I told you lately how beautiful you are when you're worried about me?" he asks, running his thumb along the edge of her hand.

"Don't be distracting, Oliver," she chastises half-heartedly.

"Absolutely stunning," he grins, kissing her as she lets out a frustrated little noise before caving. But their little moment is punctuated by the sound of the front door and a pair of voices. It's scarcely a moment later when the scamper of little feet patter across the floor and a tumble of little girl barrels into the kitchen.

"Hiya!"

"Hi Bethany," Felicity smiles down at the five-year-old. "How are you doing?"

"Good. Can I have applesauce, Aunt Felicity?" she asks, staring up with those huge brown eyes of hers. It's jarring for Oliver. She looks so much like Samantha that it makes him do a double-take. He can't imagine what it's like for David.

"Please," Will corrects his little sister, following closely in her wake. "We say 'please,' Bethy. But, I'm pretty sure you can wait for dinner at this point."

She pouts at that. It's completely forced, but Bethany can make her eyes water and lip quiver on command in a way that none of Oliver's kids had ever done.

"No waterworks!" Will tells her sternly.

"But… I love applesauce sooooo much!" Bethany protests. It's a testament to how comfortable she's gotten in their house that she lets herself be this whiny in their presence. In some ways, he figures that's a good thing. She's lost so much, more than she knows, and she needs more people she feels at home with. Samantha would want that for her.

"Then be a good girl and don't whine, and I'll make sure you get some with dinner, okay?" Will asks, crouching down to her level and giving her a serious look.

Her sigh is overly dramatic, but she yields even as she scuffs her shoe against the wood floor.

"I have an idea," Felicity tells her, abandoning Oliver's side to walk over and take Beth's hand in hers. "How about you and I go get Will's old train set and play with that until dinner's ready?"

"Okay!" she perks up immediately. "But I'm conductor. Can Nate play, too? He plans real good."

"He does plan very well," Felicity replies, subtly correcting the little girl's grammar. "But I think he's doing homework. How about we just keep this you and me?"

"That's good too," Beth decides with a firm nod. "Come on, Aunt Felicity."

She's dragging Felicity toward the stairs almost immediately, excitement obvious on the little girl's face and a happy smile on his wife's. She really has missed having a little kid in the house. He's never regretted that Nate was their last child. Their lives are full and busy. But he knows his wife thinks about what it would have been like to have another one, even if she doesn't bring it up anymore. She's nothing to Bethany - not really, just an honorary aunt who babysits sometimes - but he can't help but think they're good for each other. Beth sorely lacks female influences in her life and Felicity loves having a little one around, even if it's just for a few hours here and there.

"Clean up when you're done, Bethy!" Will calls after them as they scurry up to his old room. It's a weird mix of a guest room and storage room these days, but it does house a fair number of toys their kids have outgrown that Beth likes to play with when she's over.

"She's usually pretty good about that," Oliver notes.

"Yeah, but I stepped on a Lego barefoot last week and that's an experience I never care to repeat," Will says, moving to the sink to wash his hands.

Oliver chuckles at that, because it's true. He's suffered far, far worse than a Lego underfoot, but there's something exceptionally memorable about the experience.

"What can I help with?" Will asks.

"Maybe put the salad together?" Oliver suggests. Will nods and moves to riffle through the fridge, pulling out ingredients. Oliver can't help but watch him for a few moments. When he'd been Will's age, he'd been headed back to Starling, his body and soul littered with scars and tattoos from the five years prior. Will's had his own trials, his own scars - physical and otherwise - but Oliver's infinitely grateful that his son's life hasn't followed a path like his. And, in spite of his boy's dedication to teamwork and helping people, he's glad that he's never wanted a spot on the team. Ellie will be hard enough. He's not sure how he'd cope with the notion of more than one of his kids being a vigilante, even if it would mean they'd have each other's backs.

"I'm glad you guys busted that nutjob last night," Will says as he grabs a cutting board and gets to chopping veggies.

"That was Lyla," Oliver supplies. "I'll pass along the thanks. Your team all get out okay?"

"From my truck, yeah," Will nods. "Station 49 wasn't as lucky. They've got two in the hospital."

Oliver winces at that. He's proud as hell of his son, but he doesn't need a reminder of how dangerous his job really is.

"Some of us were gonna head over to visit tomorrow," Will adds, popping a slice of carrot into his mouth. "Carson's still in surgery, last I heard, but Perez is doing better already. Elliot's watching their kids while their wives are at the hospital with them."

"I've got some spaghetti sauce in the freezer if you want to bring it over to Elliot and the kids," Oliver offers. "So they aren't living on fast food."

"I'll take you up on that," Will agrees. "Elliot can't manage more than a microwaved chicken pot pie. If there's enough, I'll bring some to their wives, too. Hospital food is awful."

"Always has been," Oliver agrees. "They at Starling General? Lillie keeping an eye on them?"

"Uh…" Will says, his chopping slows down and he gets a grim line to his face. So, Oliver already knows what's coming well before he answers. "They are, but I don't know if Lillie's covering them. We're not… a thing anymore."

"Ah," Oliver nods.

"Yeah," Will replies quietly.

"So, how's Amelia then?"

Will stops what he's doing entirely at that and just stares down at the chopping board, looking more pained than Oliver had expected. He knew his boy was hung up on Amelia. He'd had a long talk with Felicity after the gala two weeks ago, but he'd missed seeing much of it directly. The absolute look of grief on Will's face for an instant is striking. For someone who never takes his relationships seriously, he sure as hell looks serious about one he's not having.

"You'd have to ask Thad DeWolfe the Third," Will answers after a beat, his face shuttering and his voice sharp and petulant.

"Thad…?" Oliver asks in confusion, thinking of his younger colleague in the senate.

"Yeah… her boyfriend," Will adds. He sounds all of ten years old and frustrated that Jules stole his snack again.

"Ah," Oliver notes atonally.

"Yeah… 'ah,'" Will echoes, going back to chopping with newfound fierceness. "She's dating Thad DeWolfe the Third. She's moving to Central City to be Willis' chief of staff and be with Thad DeWolfe the Third, with his stupid pretentious name and his stupid important job."

Oliver leans against the counter and studies his son. It's beneficial in a couple of ways. First off, his knee feels a little better instantly. But, more importantly, it makes Will all the more aware of his scrutiny and the younger man squirms under his appraisal.

"What?" Will demands, dropping the knife and turning to his dad. "Are you gonna tell me to let it go? That she's doing what's right for her and I should be happy about it?"

"No," Oliver tells him, shaking his head. "I'm gonna tell you that jealousy is ugly on anyone. Even you."

"I'm not-" Will starts.

"Don't be ridiculous," Oliver scoffs. "Of course you are. You're being jealous and petty and snippy."

Frustration is obvious on Will's face, his jaw tight and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Oliver thinks that's probably going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better, because he's not done talking yet.

"This is new for you," he tells his son. "I get that. I've never seen you care about someone this much and you don't know what to do with it. It's eating you up inside and you're lashing out like a hurt child because of it."

"I am hurt!" Will insists. "And, you know what? I have a right to be hurt. There this… this thing between us. If she didn't feel it too, that would be one thing, but I know she does. She's said she does. But she's never given us a chance. Three years I've been interested in her, Dad. Three years. I've asked her out four times since then and she's always hesitated but said no. But she says 'yes' to Thad DeWolfe the Third? How am I not supposed to be hurt by that?"

"You sound like a child who had his favorite toy taken by another kid," Oliver tells him. "I don't know why Amelia told you no all those times, but I do know if you ever want to have a shot at her saying yes, you need to check this attitude, because a woman like that does not put up with this kind of bitterness, Will."

"I can't help it, Dad," Will confesses. "I think of her and all I can think about is that she's going home to him. That he gets to hold her and be with her and make her laugh and she never even gave me a shot. I don't know how to be okay with that."

"Well, not by continuing to berate a man you've never met for his name and job," Oliver points out. "You're better than that. She deserves better than that from you. And you need to respect her choices."

"I do!" Will insists.

"No," Oliver corrects him. "You don't. You tolerate them. Have you even considered why she said no or have you just felt sorry for yourself about it?"

"That's not fair," Will says emphatically.

"You're telling me she feels the same way you do, but she's still saying no," Oliver reminds him. "If that's true, she's not doing that out of spite or self-sabotage, Will. She's a woman in politics in her 20s. She made her name working for your grandmother. What do you think people would say if she started dating a Queen after that? How would that impact her job? Her life? This is a rough enough business for women, nevermind young women. She's fought hard to be taken seriously and you're a hell of a risk for her. You're dangerous, whether you think so or not."

Something he's said looks like maybe it's sinking in because Will's face turns pensive. "You think I'm dangerous to her?"

"To her job? To her heart? Yeah. I do," Oliver acknowledges.

"She isn't…. She's not other women, Dad," Will insists. His whole face is begging to be understood, to be believed. And, in spite of his son's track record with women, Oliver buys that the younger man means every word he says. "I'm not looking for a fling with her. I don't want that. I want… I want to make her smile and cook her breakfast and dance with her again. I want to hold her hand and argue about baseball and take her to dinner. I don't just look at her and see a good time. I look at her and I see…"

"The future," Oliver finishes for him. "You look at her and you see everything you want wrapped up in one person." He sighs heavily because he knows that feeling. He knows it intimately and, though it's been a lot of years, he can remember clearly how it felt trying to push that down. "But Will… how's she supposed to know that? How's she supposed to believe she's different from the rest?"

"She's… she's Amelia," Will says in frustrated exasperation. His voice breaks on her name and Oliver has to think his son has a point. The emotion is readily evident, but all the same… his track record isn't exactly a serious one.

"And Lillie was Lillie," Oliver supplies. It's succinct and his meaning clear.

"You aren't exactly low-profile, Will," he continues. "I know you don't pay attention to it, but when you get spotted with a girl and it ends up on gossip sites with a headline that says 'Starling City Royals' New Princess?' There's no way she's missed that and you have to know she doesn't want to wind up on a list of your past flames. Her reputation can't take that and if she cares about you like you seem to think she does, I doubt her heart could either."

It seems like something clicks in Will's head at that as he turns his head slightly in thought, eyes darting back and forth for a second before he meets his father's gaze. "Do they do that to Jules, too?" he asks.

Ah… that's what his sudden awareness is about. He's shifted gears into brother-mode. "They do," Oliver acknowledges.

"So… Jackson…" Will ventures.

"Was around a few months before Jules said anything," Oliver supplies. "I'm a politician, Will. My office compiles media clips every week that cover anything to do with our family. That's part of their job. I've known about Jackson since April."

"And you didn't say anything?" Will asks, his eyes bugging out at that notion.

"Do I corner you about all your dates?" Oliver questions in amusement. "No, I didn't say anything. She needed time to figure out what that relationship was before she brought it up to us. That's her business. I don't blame her for that."

"But you looked into him," Will challenges. "I know you did."

"Will, this is going to come as a surprise to you, but my office looks into everyone that any of you are involved with," Oliver tells him. It's a little absurd how much he enjoys the look of shock on his son's face. "Politics is run on reputation, secrets and favors. If there's something that's going to hurt my ability to do my job, I need to know that up front."

"Who I date could hurt your job?" Will asks astounded.

Oliver has to laugh at that. For all of Will's intelligence, the reality of politics is not something he's terribly familiar with.

"Let's pretend for a minute that you were spotted on a date with a daughter of a mob boss," Oliver theorizes. "How do you think that would go over with my constituents?"

"I would not date the daughter of a mob boss," Will deadpans.

"Well, you have better sense than I ever did, so thank goodness for that," Oliver reflects.

"You dated the daughter of a mob boss?" Will asks, eyes bugging out.

"That you didn't know that is proof my staff is excellent at their jobs," Oliver points out. "A year or two before Felicity and only for a few months, but yeah. Helena Bertinelli."

"Wait… you dated a psychotic daughter of a mob boss?" Will questions aghast. "Didn't she just get out of prison?"

"You can see why it's important that I know whatever the press knows," Oliver tells him.

"Thank god your taste in women improved," Will says a bit dumbfounded.

"Drastically," Oliver agrees. "I'm gonna put the fish in and sauté these vegetables. It won't take long. You about done with that salad?"

"Yeah…" Will says, still blinking as he looks down at the pile of ingredients he's chopped. "Just need to toss it with dressing, but we should probably wait for that a bit."

"We should," Oliver agrees, moving to put the salmon in the oven and pouring a bit of olive oil into a frying pan before turning on the burner and looking back to his son. "Not to harp on Amelia… but you're a good man, Will. I want to see you happy. And… right from the moment I met her, I've always thought the two of you could be good for each other." He ignores the look of surprise on his son's face. "She's smart. She's beautiful. You share a ton of interests and the chemistry is obvious. I hope you two figure it out someday. But that day isn't today. She needs to see you can take her seriously. She needs to know she can keep the respect her job demands."

"And me?" Will asks. "What do I need?"

He looks so young, so vulnerable as he asks that. Oliver tries to remember the last time his son looked so much like a child. He finds he can't.

"In some ways you've grown up a lot," Oliver tells him. "You're practically another parent to Bethany. You have an important job you're good at and you take seriously. But you need to figure out how to let go of this petty grudge against Thad. I know him, Will. He's a good man. He doesn't deserve that from you. And neither does Amelia. Give her a little credit. If she cares about you, I'd say her taste is pretty solid."

Will nods, but he looks a little gutted by that answer. "He's a good guy?"

"There are a lot of jerks in the capital," Oliver tells him. "Men and women who take kickbacks and cheat on their spouses. Some cover up drug habits. Some are in the pocket of one lobbyist or another. There's no shortage of scandals just waiting to blow up in someone's face. I've never heard a bad word about Thad. He's smart, he's driven, and he's reasonable."

Watching his son's heart break sucks. The younger man's shoulders sag and he shakily runs a hand through his hair as he nods and stares at the floor. "Good," he says quietly. "I want that for her. I do."

"But, Will," Oliver says. "He's not gonna make her laugh. Not like you can. For what it's worth, I still think you could be good for each other. Someday."

"Someday," Will echoes dimly. "But not today."

"No," Oliver agrees. "Not today." For all his son has grown up these past few years, for all that he's a man with a life of his own, Oliver can't help but think he needs to do a little more growing up before he and Amelia have a real shot. That's okay. He's got time. "You want to go let everyone know it's about ten minutes until dinner? Ellie's in the basement. I'm pretty sure Jules and Nate are in their rooms."

"Sure," Will agrees. "And, Dad… thanks."

"For what?" Oliver asks.

"For calling me out," Will says with a derisive laugh. "I don't want to be jealous or act like a jerk. And I am actually glad to hear Thad seems like he'll be good to her. I just… this is hard."

"Yeah," Oliver agrees. "Well, you're welcome."

Will nods and heads to the stairs, leaving Oliver to finish the last touches on dinner himself. It really is almost done and everyone piles into the kitchen one-by-one over the next few moments. Felicity holds Bethany, who keeps playing with her hair and telling her how pretty it is. Nate's engrossed with something on his phone, barely looking up when he misses the final step of the stairs and almost falls. Ellie looks like she took the world's fastest shower, her hair still damp. Jules and Will keep talking in low tones that he can't hear, but absolutely make his parental senses perk up because the way they keep glancing toward him and Felicity tells him quite clearly that they're up to something. Maybe it's just about Amelia, though. He can't know for sure.

"Ellie, grab the rice?" he requests. "Nate, if you could set the table, that would be a big help."

"I'll grab the vegetables," Jules offers as Felicity grabs the salad bowl.

"Don't forget the applesauce!" Beth says with alarm, earning an expectant stare from her big brother. She very obviously wracks her brain for a moment before she follows up with a delighted "Please!"

Will nods at that and heads to the fridge in search of her applesauce. Soon enough, the seven of them are seated around the dinner table with Will cutting up pieces of Beth's dinner and Nate chattering on about the mock United Nations they're doing at school. It's nice, calm, even if Jules is strangely quiet.

"No Jackson tonight?" he asks his older daughter after a bit. Her fork freezes halfway to her mouth and her eyes go wide.

"Uh… no," she says, looking to Will who just scratches at his eyebrow and stares at his napkin.

Huh.

"Everything okay?" Felicity asks, clearly picking up on the same vibe he has.

"It's good. It's great," Jules says quickly. "Super great, actually. He's just working tonight."

"Really?" Oliver asks. "Because you almost never bring him to dinner. He's welcome, you know. We understand he's important to you."

"Um… thank you," Jules says. She's nervous. She's painfully nervous and it's incredibly obvious to the point where even Nate seems to pick up on it because his brow furrows in concern as he looks to his sister. "I… will tell him that."

"So what's he doing working so late on a Saturday?" Felicity asks. "I'd assumed he had more of a nine-to-five type job, being in marketing and web design."

"He's photographing a client event," Jules says, swallowing hard.

"Well, he can come tomorrow, if you like," Oliver offers.

"On a Sunday?" Jules asks, her eyes going huge. "I mean…" Her eyes dart to Bethany. "We have other things we do after dinner on Sundays."

Training. She means self-defense training. That's something they're going to have to talk about eventually, as much as Oliver is dreading that. Sooner or later his kids are going to wind up with real, long-term partners and - one day - spouses. It's unreasonable to think that his secret should be their secret forever. That isn't fair to their lives. But he also can't have them telling every person they ever date that their dad is the Arrow.

"Well… maybe he's not quite ready for that yet," Oliver agrees. Jules goes positively ashen at those words and he wonders what he said wrong.

"He doesn't ever need to be here on Sundays," Jules says. Her voice is firm, but she's staring at her plate. "That's not…" She stops and shakes her head. "Other days are fine, but Sundays don't need to be a part of his life. I don't want him here on Sundays."

Something in Oliver's heart sinks at that, but he can't quite define what. It feels… It feels like a divide. Like his daughter is setting boundaries, splitting her life into pieces.

"We haven't really… talked about that yet," Felicity says to his side, her eyes darting between the kids. "Sundays, in the future, I mean."

She means as a family. They haven't talked about it all together. But he and Felicity have. They've lain awake at night in each other's arms talking in hushed voices about how to handle balancing the reality of what they do, the sensitivity of it, along with their kids' increasingly independent lives. They'd gotten off easy with Will. There's never been anyone in his life that he was serious enough about to even consider clueing them into their family secret. But Oliver knows that's not going to be true forever.

"I'm all done!" Beth announces loudly. She's eaten most of her fish and a tremendous amount of applesauce, leaving just enough to hide her vegetables beneath.

Normally, Will would prod her to at least try her zucchini or eat a bite of salad. That he doesn't do that today is Oliver's biggest clue yet that he's got a much better idea of what's going on with Jules than the rest of them do. It makes sense - they're very close - but it also sits poorly with Oliver, sends a sense of foreboding trickling down his spine and sets the hair on the back of his neck on edge.

Because Jules isn't the only one who looks nervous. Will does, too. And Oliver really can't begin to guess at what's coming.

"How about you wash up and go watch that unicorn movie up in my room, okay?" Will asks his baby sister. "If you play really nicely by yourself up there for a bit, I'll make sure you get some dessert later."

"Okay!" Beth declares excitedly, scampering from her seat as fast as she can. She knows a good deal when she hears one.

When Beth's little footfalls fade away on the stairs, Felicity looks back to the kids and clears her throat. "Obviously, none of you are going to say anything about the team until you've cleared it with us. But your dad and I talked about this a long time ago and we both agree that it's not fair to keep the truth from your partners forever. We want all of you to grow up and have healthy, open relationships. You can't do that if you're hiding a big part of who you are."

"Who you are," Jules says abruptly. "It's not who I am. It's who you guys are. That's not the same thing."

"Jules, like it or not, the Arrow is part of your heritage," Felicity tells her daughter. "Just like being a Queen is."

"No," Jules insists sharply. "It's not. I am a Queen. I'm not a vigilante and I never will be. Jackson doesn't need to know anything about that side of our family. Not now, not ever."

Oliver's heart falls a bit at how guarded his older daughter looks. Ellie's eyes ping-pong back and forth between him and her sister like she's watching a tennis match. And Nate just kind of stares on owlishly. But Will… Will's got his hand on his sister's back lending comfort and support. Oliver can't even begin to imagine how on edge she'd be without him there.

"Don't get me wrong," Felicity says slowly. "I'm not saying you should tell him right now. You shouldn't. It's too soon for that, but if one day things get more serious with him or someone else, that's not the kind of thing you want to keep to yourself forever."

"Yes," Jules counters. "I do. I have never wanted any part of Team Arrow and I don't want to drag someone I love into it either. Jackson doesn't deserve to have to deal with that."

It's unsettling as hell to hear his baby girl declare she loves someone. It doesn't feel all that long ago when he'd first held her in his arms. She'd been so tiny, so shockingly beautiful. He'd have done anything in the world to keep her safe. He still would. But she's a grown woman now - twenty-years-old with a life of her own that he has such a small part of - never had that been more obvious than when he'd found out about the boyfriend she'd been keeping from them. He hadn't lied to Will. He really does get her wanting to keep it to herself for a bit while she sorts through those first few fledgling steps of a new relationship. But that doesn't mean it hadn't hurt a bit, too.

"Jules… we talked about this," Will tells her in a voice so quiet Oliver barely catches the words.

"I'm not cutting anyone out of my life, Will," Jules clarifies. "And I'm not hiding any part of myself from him. But this isn't a part of me and I'm absolutely never telling him about it."

"Well… it's not like it's an issue right now," Felicity says, trying to force a bit of calm into the room. "Maybe when things are a bit more serious we'll talk about this again."

"Mom… They are," Jules says, swallowing hard. Her voice wavers and her nerves are readily apparent. Oliver doesn't miss the way Will rubs her back a little and he braces for whatever is coming next.

"Excuse me?" Felicity asks, head tilted to the side a little as she waits for some kind of clarity.

"We're moving in together."

A rush of blood in his ears is the only thing Oliver hears for a very long moment because clearly he heard his little girl wrong. She's not actually leaving home to move in with some guy. The choking noise of his wife sputtering on her sip of wine beside him tells him pretty clearly that he heard accurately, though.

"Oh man," Ellie breathes out from a few seats down as Nate sputters, "You can't move in with anyone. You're not even married!"

Felicity coughs even more violently at those words and Oliver finds his eye twitching in a tick he can't control as he looks to his wife. "Are you okay?" he asks. Because that's his first concern. It has to be. Everything else simmers for a moment. His muscles bunch up painfully and his damned eye just keeps twitching and his voice feels tight, but all of that is second to Felicity.

"Not if my ears are working correctly," she manages after a moment, her voice scratchy and her eyes watering as she keeps coughing a little.

"Mom…" Jules sighs in exasperation.

"Don't 'mom' me right now Julianna," Felicity tells her sharply. "I'm gonna need a minute."

"You've been dating him for like a month," Ellie says, watching her sister warily.

"No," Oliver cuts in before Jules can reply. "She hasn't."

"You knew?" Jules asks astonished. "You didn't say anything."

"Neither did you," Oliver points out. "I figured you would tell us about him when and if it got serious. I guess I was wrong about that."

"I'm coming to you now, aren't I?" Jules asks.

"Yes," Felicity snaps. She's so very unhappy right now. Oliver squeezes his wife's thigh under the table, a subtle reminder that - upset or not - Jules does not respond well to being challenged. "You're coming to us telling us that there's someone in your life you're so serious about that you want to move in with him, but you've barely even given us a chance to get to know him."

"How long have you been going out with him?" Ellie asks. Her tone is strange, unsettled, and she looks more like a little girl than she has in years.

Jules bites her lip as she looks at her sister before saying, "Six months."

"Six… six months?" Felicity sputters. It's nearly double as long as Oliver had known about and the only one in the room who doesn't look stunned is Will, who Jules is very subtly leaning into.

"You knew?" Oliver asks his son.

"I found out at the gala," Will admits. "I wanted her to tell you, but I wasn't going to step in and do it for her. It wasn't my place."

"You didn't tell me?" It's Ellie's voice and it's so small and hurt. The girls have been closer in recent years. He knows Jules leaned on Ellie after her breakup with Miles and that Ellie has confided in her older sister about her feelings for Sara. Jules is still closer with Will by far, but Oliver has sort of assumed that whatever was going on in Jules' personal life, Ellie had known about. It seems like Ellie had assumed the same thing.

"I just wanted to keep it to myself for a bit, Elle," Jules tells her, sounding a little guilty about it. "Is that so bad?"

"For six months? Yeah. It kind of is," Ellie counters. But it's all from a place of feeling hurt and Jules looks like she understands that because her brow furrows and she says, "I'm sorry," to her sister in an anxious voice that practically begs the younger girl to forgive her.

"Sweetheart," Felicity starts, taking a deep breath. "Jackson seems wonderful. Your dad and I both like him a lot and we're very, very glad that you're happy. We want that for you. But don't you think six months is a little fast to be moving in together."

"Wasn't I born like… nine months after you started dating Dad?" Jules challenges. "Didn't you buy this house after six months together?"

"Those were completely different circumstances," Felicity counters.

"Why?" Jules asks, crossing her arms. "Because they were yours?"

"Jules…" Will says slowly, giving his sister a heavy look and trying to rein her in.

"No," Jules says, shaking her head. "No, I'm an adult. I have a great career and so does Jackson. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me and I'm kind of crazy in love with him. So, if he wants to share his life with me and live together, I'm doing it."

"You're twenty," Felicity points out.

"And he's twenty-four," Jules notes. "Isn't that how old you were when I was born?"

"I was twenty-five," Felicity counters warily. "And if you're telling me that you're pregnant right now, I'm going to need like a whole lot more wine."

Oliver sort of feels like dying on the spot at that idea and he can't even quantify the relief that runs through him when Jules rolls her eyes. "No. Of course not. There are reasons other than a baby to want to live with someone, Mom."

"Thank God," Oliver mutters beneath his breath.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," she says sarcastically. "I do know how birth control works, you know."

"But, you can't do that… You're not married!" Nate says again, fully astounded and a little scandalized.

The look Will's giving his little brother is something that's gonna stick with Oliver for a very long time. "Nate…" Will says, shaking his head a bit.

"Okay… Nate, buddy, you and I are going to have another chat about girls in the very near future," Oliver tells his son. "And Jules… I'm grateful to know that you're being careful, but I'm also going to pretend I know absolutely nothing about you having a sex life for the sake of my sanity."

"How old were you when Will was born again?" Jules asks slowly.

"I never said it wasn't hypocritical."

"Well, there's that anyhow," Jules agrees.

"Is Jackson even really working tonight?" Felicity asks, pulling Oliver's attention to his wife. "Or did you just not want him here for this conversation?"

The way Jules pauses and fidgets awkwardly before replying is an answer all on its own. "He is working," Jules says slowly. "But I didn't want him here for this. Can you really blame me?"

"Yes," Ellie speaks up, pushing her chair back and standing. "Because if we'd known him for the last six months, if you'd told me about him at all, this whole conversation would have gone completely differently. Sorry, Daddy, but I've lost my appetite. I'll go pile up the clothes I've borrowed from you Jules. I'm guessing you're going to want them back since you're leaving."

"Ellie," Jules starts, but the younger girl just waves her off as she grabs her plate and heads back out to the kitchen. "Damn it…"

She looks so lost, so thrown by how she's inadvertently damaged her relationship with her little sister and Oliver can't help but think, for all her protests that she's an adult now, she definitely doesn't look like one in this moment.

"Give her some time," he counsels his daughter. "You've had six months to build up to this conversation. She's had about six minutes."

"She'll get over it," Will adds with certainty.

Jules looks at him like he's got all the answers, her eyes hopeful and pleading. It reminds Oliver strongly of the time he'd sworn to her that she'd get the hang of riding her bike without training wheels because he knew she could. They're five and twelve in his head all over again, and he has to swallow back that memory because those days are long gone and it hurts to have them flash before him while his little girl is talking about moving in with a boy, moving on with her life, and leaving them behind.

"How do you know that?" Jules asks her big brother.

"Because I did," Will replies with a thin smile. "Because she loves you just like I do, Jules."

"You're really leaving us?" Nate asks from the opposite side of the table. He's next to Felicity and Oliver doesn't miss the way his wife's hand grabs her son's and she holds on tightly. Whether that's more for Nate's benefit or for hers is anyone's guess. She's always clung to their youngest.

"I'm not going far," Jules answers. "It's not like I'm leaving the city. I'll still be over all the time. I'm here for Sunday dinners, okay? You might even see me more. And you can come over to our place any time you want."

Our place. God, this would be so much easier if she just wanted an apartment of her own. He could have coped with that. But with a boy…

"Give it longer," Felicity blurts out. Jules' brow furrows as she looks to her mother. "I get it, Jules. I've been exactly where you are and I completely understand. But… just give it a bit more time. Until you've been together for a year, maybe. Or a few more months anyhow. Give us a chance to get used to this."

"Or what?" Jules challenges, her chin and defenses both up. "You'll cut off my trust fund?"

Felicity looks so very hurt by that. Her shoulders sag and her eyes water as she blinks down at the tablecloth. Jules has the grace to look a little ashamed at the question, given her mother's response.

"Of course not," Felicity tells her, looking back up. "I'm not giving you an ultimatum, Jules. I'm just… I'm worried. And I'm sad. I want what's best for you. I want you to stop and take a breath before you make a big decision like this. And I need some time to figure out how to be okay with losing my little girl."

"You aren't losing me, Mom," Jules says. She's back to sounding uncomfortable and it strikes Oliver suddenly how very much she must actually want this to willingly put herself through this conversation. She had to have known it would go like this and Jules has never been one for exposing her own vulnerabilities. "I'm still your daughter. I'm just grown up. I want my own life, my own home, and I don't belong here anymore."

Jules doesn't get it, can't possibly understand what it feels like for her parents, but Oliver's heart aches the same way his wife's does. Because she's right, because in some ways it's very much like losing their daughter, even if it's just losing her to adulthood. Being a parent, he realized a few decades ago, is equal parts holding on to your child and learning to let them go, little by little, bit by bit as they reach for new freedoms and take their own steps out into the world without you.

"You'll always belong here, Jules," he says, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice is rough with disuse and emotion. "I don't care if you're 20 or 40 or 60, our home will always be your home. And, anytime you want to come back, the door will be open and your room will be waiting for you."

"Oliver," Felicity chokes, as she turns and presses her face into his shoulder. It's hot and wet and he knows she's crying, but trying to hide it. She was nowhere near ready for this. None of them had been.

"Does that mean I can go?" Jules asks in astonishment.

"I didn't have the impression you were asking," Oliver points out, scooting his chair closer to his wife and wrapping an arm around her. She's so completely leaning her weight into him that he's pretty much supporting her entirely.

"I wasn't," Jules admits, her voice quiet and a little pained. So… maybe she hadn't entirely anticipated how this conversation was going to go. In truth, she's always underestimated her own value to her parents. That's gotten so much better over the years, but ghosts of it are still there and for a split second Oliver wonders how she thought this would play out. "...Mom. Come on, don't cry."

"Oh, sweetheart," Felicity says with a wet laugh, wiping at her eyes before looking to her daughter. "You can tell me you're moving in with some boy I barely know or you can tell me not to get upset. You can't do both."

"Maybe… maybe I did make a mistake," Jules admits. "Maybe I should have introduced him to you sooner. You're going to love him, Mom. He's such a great guy."

"Well, I hope I get the chance to really know him, then," Felicity replies with a watery smile.

Jules nods at that. It's slow and thoughtful. "How about Wednesday nights?" she asks after a moment.

"Wednesdays?" Felicity asks.

"Will almost never works the next morning and Ellie doesn't have volleyball practice Wednesday nights," Jules points out. "I can't bring him on Sundays. I won't. I'll still come. I need to practice self-defense so I can protect myself and him. But Wednesdays… he and I could maybe both come. As long as you promise not to do the cooking."

"I think Wednesdays sound good," Felicity agrees. "And if your dad is stuck at work late, I can very efficiently order pizza."

"Okay," Jules nods. The smile on her lips is small but excited. She's clearly more at peace with the situation now. It's still going to be a long night for Oliver and Felicity. He knows full well that just the promise of a weekly dinner isn't enough to mend his wife's broken heart - it's not enough to heal his either - but it's a step in the right direction. This was always coming… someday. They'd just both thought they had so much more time. "Okay. That's good."

"When are you leaving?" Nate asks quietly.

"Probably not for another couple of weeks," Jules tells him. "We started looking right after the gala, but it's hard to find somewhere that takes big dogs."

"You're taking Buster?" Oliver questions.

"Well… yeah," Jules agrees. "I can't leave him. You know that. It's why I never lived in the dorms for college. But Jackson has a yellow lab, too. Her name's Bokeh. We need somewhere that will let us have both of them. We did find one place we really liked. It's kind of near Will's, actually. There's a dog park just across the street and there's this big bay window in the eating area. The kitchen is small, but I think that's probably okay."

"Did you put in an application yet?" Oliver asks. She will. He can tell just from the way her face lights up as she talks about the apartment. As much as he hates this, as much as it hurts, he can't help but be blown away by how striking his little girl is when she's joyful. He finds he's looking forward to Wednesday nights very much, all of a sudden.

"I was going to go by and do that tomorrow," she admits. "I didn't want to take that step without talking to you guys first."

"We appreciate that," Oliver tells her. "Just so you're aware… when the press asks questions - and they will - my office will have to have something worked up to reply with. I'll have my chief of staff draft up a blurb to run by you both. I'd appreciate if you both stick on message with whatever we agree on."

"Is that really necessary?" Jules asks, looking a pinch worried again. "I'm just moving in with my boyfriend. How is that even news?"

"Jules, they've been publishing pictures of you two for months and calling him 'the princess' new suitor.' So, yes, it's necessary," Oliver informs her. On one hand, it's wonderful that none of his kids have ever given a damn about their popularity in the media. It's helped them keep far more level heads than he'd had in his youth. But on the other, it means they don't understand this at all and they're blindsided anytime the public cares about their existence.

"That's not fair," Jules protests.

"No," Oliver agrees. "It's not. But it's part of being a Queen. And that's not something you can shrug off like you do Team Arrow. It's your name, your blood and your heritage. We get a whole lot of advantages in our lives because of who we are. We have to roll with the drawbacks, too."

"But why does Jackson have to?" Jules asks.

"Because he loves you," Oliver points out. "Do you think the press covered your mom before she knew me?"

"Well… I mean occasionally by my hacker name," Felicity muses. Everyone turns to look at her and she flushes a little at the admission. "That was usually trade journals, though. Or… you know… cybercrimes publications. That kind of thing. Ghost Fox Goddess got a bit of play. But that's sort of beside your point, so go on and pretend like I didn't say anything." She's waving her hands like she's waving her words away and Oliver can't help but stop and stare at how adorable she is for a moment. Two decades together and sometimes she still takes his breath away. He stops, watches her, realizes immediately how incredibly, stupidly lucky he really is.

"How are you such a sap, Dad?" WIll asks shaking his head.

"I don't know," Jules says with a little shrug. "I think it's sort of cute."

That's new from her. But then being in love seems to have changed his little girl a fair bit. For the better, so far. He can admit that. And he wants that for her. He's always wanted that for her. But that doesn't make this any easier.

"Man, I'm gonna be dealing with you and Jackson being all ridiculously gooey every week too, aren't I?" Will groans.

"Maybe if you man-up and get your girl you can bring her along and be too distracted to notice," Jules smiles sweetly.

The comment falls flat though, and Oliver knows immediately that she's been too wrapped up in her own life lately to have any clue what's going on in Will's.

"I think I'll be solo at dinner for a bit," Will answers tightly.

"You never know," Jules announces in a lofty, sing-song voice. "I saw you two dance. Maybe you changed her mind. Maybe she'll come running back to Starling right to your door. Maybe you've already swept her off her feet and you don't even kno-"

"Stop."

Will's voice is harsh, decisive, lacking any playfulness as he stares blankly down at his empty plate. There's only one other time Oliver can remember Will's tone toward Jules taking on this edge of cold frustration. But it's not Jules he's angry at. Not this time.

"...I was just playing," Jules says a bit uneasily. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Yeah," Will says, clearing his throat and blinking hard before looking up at his sister with no trace of his typically ever-present smile. "I get that. But I still need you to stop."

"Okay," Jules nods, watching him with freshly appraising eyes. Oliver wonders what she sees. They've always been so in sync, his two oldest. They've always understood each other best. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Will says, pushing back his chair and standing with a big sigh. "I should go check on Bethy."

"Will," Jules protests, grabbing his sleeve softly.

"Really," he assures her with a forced smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "It's fine. We're okay, Jules."

She lets go reluctantly with a nod and watches him with concerned eyes as he makes his way from the room toward the kitchen, plate in hand and shoulders drooping sadly. Part of Oliver wishes he could make this better for his son. Watching him heartbroken is so hard. But at the same time, it feels like maybe this is an experience he needs to go through. Will has grown into a wonderful man, someone Oliver is so very proud to call his son, but he's never had a woman challenge him, never had someone who mattered to him. Not like this. Oliver remembers clearly what a life like Will's was like, and he knows how much better things were once he had a woman in his life worth fighting for, someone who fought for him too. He can't say that Amelia will be that woman for Will. Maybe, but right now it looks awfully unlikely. Still, the experience knowing someone like that is out there, that he even can feel that, has to be something that will be good for Will.

In the long run, anyhow.

"I didn't mean to upset him," Jules says, the minute she's sure Will's out of earshot. "I didn't realize she meant that much to him."

Felicity sighs. "I don't think he did either," she acknowledges. "Not until the gala. But don't bring Amelia up again unless he does first, please? This is hard for your brother."

"Her name's Amelia?" Jules asks, looking back and forth between them. "How does he even know her?"

"She worked for Grandma," Nate informs her. "She's completely awesome. Is there any more salmon?"

"In the fridge," Oliver tells him. Nate's already had two helpings, but it's not at all a surprise that he's going back for me. The kid is a bottomless pit these days. "Just leave enough for your mom's lunch Monday, okay?"

"It's fine," Felicity says, waving off the concern. "I have a meeting with R & D during lunch Monday. You can finish it off, Nate."

"Cool," he says with a nod. He fidgets as he gets up and, before leaving the dining room, he sort of throws his arms around Jules unexpectedly. She jolts in surprise, but rests her hand on his arm and holds him close anyhow. "I don't want you to go, but I'm glad it's not far," he mutters.

A pleased flush works its way across Jules' cheeks as she looks up at her baby brother and ruffles his hair. "I'll still be around, squirt. Just not sleeping down the hall anymore."

Yeah, Oliver's trying really hard to not think about where she'll be sleeping, but at least her words seem to settle Nate a little and he shuffles out of the room with a smile and a small backwards glance.

It's just him, Felicity, and Jules then and there's a heaviness to the room that hadn't been there when it was the whole family. It feels like a metaphor, all of them leaving one-by-one, and Oliver knows instinctively that his wife will have a much harder time with this than she'll ever let on in front of Jules.

"You aren't too mad at me, are you?" Jules asks worriedly.

"No," Felicity says immediately, picking at the edge of the tablecloth. "No, I'm not mad. When I think about where I was in my life at your age… I can't be mad, Jules."

She'd been done with college already. She'd been mourning a boyfriend whose death she thought was her fault. At Jules' age, Felicity had already had her heart broken in ways that Jules can't even conceive of. It puts things in perspective a bit.

"I'm a little sad," Felicity continues, in what Oliver knows for certain is a monumental understatement. "I'm going to miss you so much and I'm going to worry about you all the time. But that's just part of what being a mom is, I guess. Maybe one day you'll understand that."

Jules scoffs and rolls her eyes at that. She's been pretty clear that she doesn't picture kids in her future. Oliver has to wonder how Jackson feels about that. Have they talked about it? Are things that serious? He hopes they're on the same page, but at the same time he just wants her to slow down, to savor the moments she's in. That's a lesson he learned the hard way in life and one he wishes he could pass on to all of his children, but it seems to be something they need to figure out on their own.

"You don't have to worry," Jules assures her. "You've raised me well. I can take care of myself and Jackson would never let anything happen to me."

Oliver's pretty sure that Felicity was talking about her heart, but neither one of them are about to correct that misconception right now. And besides, Jules isn't done talking.

"It's not that I want to leave you guys, you know?" she asks. She looks almost embarrassed by the admission. "But, I want my own space. I'm not leaving you. I'm just… I'm just growing up. That's all."

It's the same thing to her parents, but Jules doesn't see that. She can't. And, in truth, Oliver doesn't want her to. So, he just smiles, nods and reaches for her hand across the table.

"We're going to support you no matter what, my Julie-bug," he tells her, watching their fingers. He remembers so clearly when the whole of her hand wrapped around his thumb. But that little girl is gone now and in her place is a beautiful, bright young woman with the whole world in front of her. Letting her go is hard - so very hard - but he can't help but wonder if she's more ready for this than he and Felicity are. "Anything you ever need, we're right here. Whether that's help moving boxes or someone to talk to or a home to come back to… that's okay."

Felicity's hand settles atop their joined grip. It's almost imperceptible, the way her fingers shake, but Oliver picks up on it and he knows how very stressful this is for her.

"We're always going to love you," Felicity adds, clearing her throat. "No matter what. Always. I can't lie and say this is easy for us. It's not. But we both want what's best for you and if you think that's moving out and living with your boyfriend… we aren't going to do anything to stop you. But we do really want to get to know him better and I want to see your beautiful face around this house sometimes still, because you make everything better, sweetheart. And this house will feel so empty without you in it."

Jules looks stunned. She and her mother so often have had trouble communicating their feelings for each other. They've made progress, especially this last year, but it's rarely been as overt as this and Oliver knows it's a moment that's hit them both hard.

Letting go of their hands, Jules gets up and hugs her mother tightly. It's a firm grip and Oliver watches as Felicity buries her face in the crook of their daughter's neck and breathes in their little girl's scent, trying to commit it to memory. His mind flashes back to a hundred times when Jules had fallen asleep on one of their shoulders, her soft little puffs of breath ghosting across their necks. She'd been such a sweet baby, such a reserved but good little girl. In spite of everything they've been through with her, in spite of all the challenges they've dealt with over the years, he can't help but think it's all been worth it because it's led her to become the incredible, self-reliant woman he sees before him today.

And that woman takes his breath away.

"I love you too, Mom," Jules says quietly, so quietly that Oliver isn't sure he really heard it for a second. But his wife's knuckles turn white as she holds onto the back of her daughter's shirt and she lets out a shuddering breath, and Oliver knows he heard the words after all. "No matter where I am. Thanks for supporting me and not freaking out too much," she continues, barely louder.

Felicity's short wet chuckle answers her as she pulls back slightly and rests a palm against her daughter's cheek. "I'd support you through anything, Jules, but I can't say I'm not freaking out. I'll just keep doing it internally for a bit, okay?"

Jules must think she's kidding - she's not; Oliver knows that - because she just chuckles and shakes her head a little before backing off and standing up fulling. "Deal," she says. "I'm gonna go try to make things right with Ellie, if that's okay. I just… I need to fix things with Ellie."

It's clear that she's enormously bothered by how upset her little sister is and Oliver can't help but find that heartening. Just a few years ago, she'd have brushed it off. It wouldn't have bothered her at all. Some of the change in his older daughter is just age, some of it is the therapy she went through after the kidnapping, some of it is her own professional success. She's more confident these days, more thoughtful of others. But he also has to wonder how much of this is Jackson. He'd noticed, back in January, that she'd been happier, more open. At the time, he'd credited that to her excitement for her fledgling career. But now… knowing she'd met Jackson at the same time… he has to think that some of it is him. And Oliver is intensely interested in getting to know the young man better because of it.

Anyone who helps his daughter feel open and expressive and happy is worth his time.

"Okay," Felicity agrees. Her hands rest next to her plate, but Oliver can see her itching to reach for Jules again, to hold on. She's keeping it together right now, but just barely. "I appreciate that. I think she will, too."

"Yeah," Jules echoes, chewing on the edge of her lip. "I hope so… Thanks again." She sort of shuffles in place for a moment before kissing her mom quickly on the cheek and moving to him, doing the same. She doesn't linger, escaping the room and bolting toward the stairs.

The breath Felicity sucks in the moment their daughter is gone is ragged and shaky. Her eyes are dewy and her nose a little red. He knows exactly how she's feeling. He might show it a little less, but she's far from alone right now.

"I guess I'll do the dishes," she says quietly, standing and blinking down at the table as she starts to collect discarded plates. She doesn't even look his way as she busies herself with mundane chores. It's clear she's avoiding her feelings however she can, but he knows his wife well by now. He has no doubt what she needs in this moment and it's absolutely not to do the dishes.

He gets up and moves behind her, stilling her with a hand over hers. She doesn't turn to look at him and he doesn't say a word, but she does freeze in place and let out an unsteady breath that nearly turns into a sob at the end as she leans back into him.

"I want to go back," she says in a hushed voice. She's still faced away from him, toward the table, but his arms are around her and his chin rests on her shoulder, surrounding her in his presence as best he can. "I want to do it again. I want my baby girl safe in her crib while I worry about silly things like if it's too soon to try solid foods or when she'll start walking. I want to rewind my life just to do it all over."

Oliver gets it. He feels that, too. Sometimes he looks at their kids and he blinks because they've just grown right in front of his eyes. Ellie can't possibly be applying to colleges yet. Nate can't be closing in on high school. Will can't really be fast approaching 30. His little Julie-bug can't really be moving out with a boy. Just last week, it seems, she'd held onto his finger with her whole hand and called him 'Daddy.' They're so big now and it feels like that can't possibly be real.

But it is. He knows because he's held onto every single moment as it's passed them by, savored every laugh and smile, found joy in little things like waffles on weekends, Will's ballgames and Jules' recitals, ice cream with Ellie and camping trips - no matter how ill-advised - with Nate. He can't claim he doesn't have a sense of nostalgia that creeps up often these days, but he also doesn't have any regrets. Not with his children.

"Would you do anything differently if you could?" he asks.

The laugh she gives in return is pained and she turns her head to catch his gaze. "That's a trick question and you know it."

"Is it?" he asks. He smiles at her and he can feel the lines around his eyes crinkling as he does. They're hard-won, those wrinkles, born of laughter and joy and a million moments over the last two decades that he wouldn't give up for anything.

"If I say no, then there's no point," Felicity tells him. "We'd wind up right back here. If I say yes, then I'd change things, I'd change our whole life. And I don't want that. Not really. I love our life together, Oliver. Even the hard parts. Even the worst parts. Because as hard as this is, as much as I want to stop time and keep them from growing up so fast, that's only because I've enjoyed them so very much."

"Yeah," he agrees, kissing her shoulder. "Me too."

It's quiet for a very long moment after that. They just stand there, remnants of dinner littered across the table as Oliver holds onto his wife and lets a sense of solidarity build between them both.

"So… Jackson," Felicity says after a minute. It sounds like she's testing out the name.

"Jackson," he agrees.

"Any clue what his last name is?" Felicity asks.

It's in the media clippings. He knows it is, but in all honesty he hadn't paid that much attention to them. Not to the extent he should have, anyhow. But hindsight is twenty-twenty and he doesn't have the luxury of going back and doing things again. Still, it's very, very obvious that his little girl is a whole lot more serious about this guy than he'd assumed.

"I don't," he tells his wife. "But honey… I think we're gonna need to find out."


	31. January 2025

**January 28, 2025**

She should be reviewing proposals from the marketing department. That's what Felicity _should_ be doing right now. But today is one of those rare days where Felicity pushes her obligations aside, ignores her ever-present workload and turns her phone on silent.

It's a Tuesday, but she's taken the day off work - like _really_ off work, not even work-from-home work is happening. Nate's been down for a rare nap for a bit and the girls are still at school. So, in spite of all the things she _should_ be doing, Felicity's curled up in the armchair in her office at home with a tablet in her hands, replaying some of the most important moments of her life.

" _Hi Momma!_ " Ellie's voice calls out as the front door slams. Felicity jolts, looking to the clock and finding it a whole half hour later than she'd assumed. Time goes by so fast while you aren't looking.

Ever a ball of energy, the blonde little girl appears in the open doorway bouncing on the balls of her feet as Felicity puts the tablet down and stands up to greet her. "I asked Frank to stay for cake, but he said he's too worried that maybe you cooked it so he doesn't wanna. He's coming with Grandma Donna this weekend for the party, though, because I promised Daddy was baking. But Sara said any cake is worth the risk, so she's staying. Can she and I go play in the fairy castle out back, pretty please with fairy dust on top?"

Felicity pauses at that and quirks her head to the side as she watches her younger daughter's dramatic, toothy grin. Sara Diggle appears right behind her wearing an identical smile.

" _Pleeeeeease_ Aunt Felicity?" Sara asks, batting those huge brown eyes of hers. As if she'd been going to say no.

"Sure," she agrees. "Nate's asleep, though. Don't slam the door. Okay? And _you_ , my birthday girl," she says as Jules also joins the group of young girls, "how was your day, my ten-year-old?"

Jules' eyes light up at the question and her cheeks flush as she smiles thinly and shrugs one shoulder. "Okay," she replies. "I had art _and_ library today. I found a book with a dog that looks like Buster and Mrs. Nelms, the librarian, said she thought I'd really like it."

Ellie and Sara have scampered off toward the back yard. They wholly ignore the command to not slam the door, but it hardly matters because Buster has realized his girl is home and he bounds noisily through the house until he barrels right into Jules. He immediately jumps up, putting both front paws on her shoulders and whining as he licks at her face, tail wagging wildly. You'd think he hadn't seen her in a month. It's like this every single day.

" _Down_ , Buster," Felicity scolds. But it's half-hearted at best because Jules laughs and kisses the mutt soundly on the top of his head. She loves this dog more than anything in the whole world and even if Felicity really wishes behavioral training would stick better with him, she also doesn't really want to scold the pup today. He makes Jules so very happy.

"I missed you, too, boy!" Jules tells him as he nuzzles against her desperate for her attention. It's sort of a miracle he doesn't just knock her down. It feels like he's grown even faster than Jules has. "Down, though. Down, Buster."

Of course, he listens to her. He sits sharply at attention, tail thumping against the wood floor as he looks up at her adoringly. Felicity shakes her head at the sight. It's not that the dog _can't_ understand direction, it's that he only listens to Jules. Ever.

"That's my good boy," Jules tells him, scratching behind his ear. If a dog could preen, he would be. He's so utterly delighted at being called a good boy by his girl. "Can Buster have cake, too? It's basically his birthday, too, since I adopted him two years ago."

Felicity could swear the dog understands her words, because he just stops and stares at her, both he and Jules wearing identical, wide-eyed expressions. ' _Please_?' they say. ' _Please can Buster have a treat_?' It's absurd.

"The cake's chocolate, which isn't good for dogs," Felicity reminds her. "But… I might have asked Raisa to pick up some of his favorite t-r-e-a-t-s."

"Yes!" Jules declares cupping the dog's face and ruffling his fur with excitement. The dog is thrilled, even if he clearly doesn't know why. It doesn't matter. His girl is happy. That's all he needs. "You're gonna have a great dinner tonight, Buster! It's my _party_. I'm double-digits, now!"

Oh, wow… that's… Felicity's been trying really hard not to think about that all day, but there it is stated plain as day. It seems impossible that she's _ten_ now, but she is. And, in spite of wanting to make the clock stop, Felicity sort of loves this place they're at right now. _Finally_. Things finally feel like they're on the right track.

Almost a year after finishing chemotherapy, her mom is doing well. Nate's finally sometimes sleeping in his own bed without complaint. Ellie's ever-joyful and past that terrifying time when the _other_ Ellie had taken her trip through time. But, most importantly, Jules seems more at peace than any time since she was a toddler. She's happier, not _open_ exactly, but not closed off anymore either. It feels like everything is moving in the right direction.

A laugh breaks through the sound of Buster noisy licking Jules' hand and the girl looks up in confusion. "Is someone over?"

"Nope," Felicity smiles softly. "I was just watching a few old videos. I guess I left them running."

"Oh…" Jules says, craning her neck. She's curious, but quiet. Both of these things come as no surprise to Felicity. But she's gotten a lot better at picking up on her little girl's nonverbal cues over these last three years, stopped to take in what Jules _isn't_ saying and hears it as loudly as what she _is_.

"Come on," Felicity says with a tilt of her head in invitation as she walks back into her office. She doesn't wait to see if Jules will follow; She will, but she'll hesitate if she knows she's being studied for a reaction. Instead, Felicity grabs her tablet and curls up in her chair again. Sure enough, curiosity gets the best of Jules and soon she's leaning against the arm of the chair to get a better look at the screen.

"You were _huge_!" she says in astonishment, blinking her big, blue eyes owlishly in amazement.

Felicity can't help it. She bursts out laughing immediately. "I really wasn't, actually," she corrects. "You were on the small side. I got a lot bigger with Nate."

"I guess I didn't notice," Jules tells her. She's not looking up, too distracted by the video playing out in front of her. Felicity gets that. It's a pretty great moment.

" _Oliver, how is it possible that you can build a bow out of like… twigs, but a crib gets the best of you?"_ the Felicity on the tablet laughs. It's not long after their first Christmas and Hannukah together, not long after Will first started spending some full weekends with them, and they're both sort of on a giddy high that came along with pieces of their lives together falling into place.

" _This has more parts!"_ Oliver protests. He's completely surrounded by wooden parts and piles of screws and wooden pins. God, they're both so _young_. How were they that young?

"Who took this?" Jules asks. She's completely entranced, watching as Oliver gives up on the crib, grabbing Felicity instead and tugging her closer. He's still seated on the floor, still surrounded by the unbuilt crib that will one day house their older daughter, but he's given up on that for the moment. His attention is wholly on his pregnant girlfriend's belly.

"Aunt Thea," Felicity replies, but it's sort of unnecessary because Thea's distinctive snort sounds through the tablet a moment later, right as Jules shifts so that she's sitting on the edge of the armchair rather than leaning on it.

" _You're such a sap, Ollie_ ," she tells him as he presses his lips to Felicity's stomach.

" _At least my little girl won't judge me, will you Julie-bug?"_ he asks. " _You'll love this crib no matter what_."

" _She'll love_ you _no matter what_ ," Felicity corrects. " _Because you're her daddy. That makes you the most important person in her whole world._ "

" _She's awfully important in mine, too_ ," Oliver points out. He's on his knees looking up at Felicity, his chin resting against her stomach. Felicity's got one hand on his cheek and a dreamy kind of look on her face as her other hand rests against the curve of her belly, thumb stroking against the fabric of her shirt like maybe her unborn daughter can feel it.

" _Mine, too,"_ she smiles back.

" _God, you guys. I'm getting a toothache here_ ," Thea declares as the angle changes and the screen momentarily goes black.

"That's it?" Jules asks. She sounds frustrated and she's leaned so far over that Felicity just tugs her the rest of the way onto her lap so she can see better. And so that she can enjoy having her daughter on her lap. At ten years old, that's a rarity these days. Hell, it's been a rarity with Jules for a long time.

"For that day, yes," Felicity confirms. "But there's more coming…. You never wanted to watch these with me before."

Jules doesn't say anything to that, just gives a silent nod of admission as she presses her lips together tightly and watches the screen. Buster's resting his head on her knee, but for once the girl is paying no attention to her dog. The whole of her focus is on the screen in front of her. Felicity's watched these videos a hundred times. She knows them by heart by now. So, she takes the opportunity to watch her daughter instead.

Especially because she knows what's coming next.

"Oh!" Jules gasps aloud. She starts to scoot forward, closer to the screen and the scene playing out on it, but Felicity adjusts her hold and tugs the girl back so she can both cuddle and see the picture well.

And _oh_ what a heart-rending picture it is. Jules is just hours old, so very small, and barely awake in her father's arms as he sings quietly down to her. Love radiates through the screen so strongly that it makes Felicity's heart swell and her eyes water. The way Oliver loves is beautiful. It always has been. His devotion to his city, to her, to their children, it steals the breath from her lungs and sets her pulse racing. It always has.

"Is that me?" Jules asks. Her voice is so quiet, so in awe and tinged with disbelief.

"It is," Felicity confirms, brushing Jules' dark hair behind her ear so she can see her face better. "Ten years ago today. I'm asleep in the bed over there. You can barely see my leg at the bottom. Fourteen hours of labor and you wore me out, kiddo."

"Fourteen hours?" Jules asks in astonishment, looking up at her. "Did you get… breaks or anything?"

"It doesn't work like that." Felicity laughs before acknowledging, "It was a long day, but it was worth it. You've always been worth it."

Jules looks a little stunned by that. She's never quite believed when her parents have said things like this to her, but she doesn't scoff or roll her eyes this time. She just chews her lip and looks back to the screen with fresh eyes. Something about that makes hope well up in Felicity's chest. The idea that Jules isn't immediately dismissing this, that she might actually _accept_ it, feels like the best present she could have ever asked for.

It's a sweet, but not particularly long clip and Jules makes a noise of protest when the moment ends. Felicity can't blame her, because she wishes it weren't so short, too. It's such a beautiful moment, Oliver's singing voice notwithstanding.

"There's lots more, Julie-bug," Felicity murmurs, kissing the top of the girl's head as she relaxes again and the scene fast-forwards just a few hours.

She'll like this one - Felicity knows she will - and she's not at all surprised when her little girl lets out a giggle. "Is that _Will_?" she asks. "He's so tiny!"

"Same age there as Ellie is now," Felicity replies, a fondly reminiscent smile pulling at her lips. He _had_ been so tiny, such a good little boy, and he'd been so in awe at this arrival of his baby sister.

" _She's here? Can I see her? Is it okay?_ " Will is anxious on the screen, an excited, jittery mess. Felicity doesn't even know who recorded this one because they don't speak and somehow manage to keep Will, Jules, Felicity and Oliver all in the frame. Something tells her it was Samantha, but she's far from certain, and if it _is_ then Will is far too enraptured with his baby sister to say anything to his mom.

" _You can even hold her, buddy. We just have to be careful. She's very little,"_ Oliver tells Will, heading to take the newborn from Felicity's arms. This was a few days before the postpartum depression had really set in and Felicity wishes she could reach through the screen and warn her younger self, tell her what's to come and that it's not her fault, let her know that it's okay to get the help she needs and it doesn't mean she's weak. But life doesn't work that way and at least in the scene Jules sees now, her mom isn't crushed by a hollow sense of brokenness.

On the screen, Felicity kisses her newborn's dark hair and breathes in her unique baby scent. It's so strong a memory that from ten years later, sitting in her office, Felicity's pretty sure she can recall it with perfect clarity. The younger version of herself takes her time before handing over the baby to its father, she's so reluctant to let the newborn go and it's obvious enough that that same little girl on her lap now can clearly see it. Her eyes grow wide with surprise, but she's so drawn in that it seems like she's trying not to even blink for fear of missing this moment.

Oliver wipes at the baby's mouth and smiles as she gurgles with more alertness than Felicity had expected at the time. She works her little arms out of the loose swaddling, a hospital-provided baby blanket covered in storks, and reaches one hand for her father's finger, the other going straight to her mouth. She hadn't sucked her thumb long as a baby - not like Nate or even Ellie - but those first few weeks she'd found comfort in it.

" _I've got you, sweet girl. You're okay, Julie-bug_ ," Oliver tells her softly, rocking her just a little. Her tiny brow is furrowed like she's trying to figure something out, like she's unsettled by the change of arms and her own motion through the world. " _I've got someone very special who wants to meet you_."

Absolute joy spills off of Will's face. He'd been so nervous just a month or so prior, but those nerves had quickly given way to excitement and he'd never once looked back. But then Will's loyalty is absolute and his trust is easier won than Jules' has ever been.

" _Sit down, Will_ ," Oliver tells his oldest, nodding his head toward a small sofa in room. It's too small, really. Poor Oliver had taken a few short naps on it the day before and his frame hadn't even come close to fitting on it. But it suits their purposes now and Will scrambles for the sofa as fast as he can, sitting at attention and squaring his shoulders as he holds his arms out stiffly. He's blindingly excited, but Felicity thinks Oliver might be even moreso. His smile's a mile wide and there's so much joy in every single feature. It took her breath away at the time and it still does now.

"You all look so happy…" Jules says. It's so quiet, so absently stated that Felicity thinks she might not even be aware she said it aloud.

"Oh, Jules… you have no idea," she tells the girl. There's a grating heaviness to her voice that surely emphasizes her point and the ten-year-old looks up at her with such raw hopefulness that it cleaves her heart in two. "You've owned such a big piece of my heart from the moment I knew you existed, sweetheart."

Jules' eyes water visibly and she can't keep her mother's gaze, but she holds on harder. She nestles back into Felicity's embrace and clings to the side of her shirt as she soaks in more of the moment playing out in front of her.

On the tablet, Oliver's eased himself down next to Will. The little boy is nearly plastered to his father's side, craning his neck to get a good first look at his baby sister.

" _Hiya, Julianna!_ " Will says, waving at the newborn, as if she could possibly understand that. His half-toothless grin focused entirely on the baby. " _I'm Will. I'm your big brother!_ "

He's so very proud of the title, had been telling everyone who would listen for weeks and detailing everything he was going to teach his baby sister, all the things they'd one day do together. At the time, Felicity had thought that interest would wane, that he'd tire of the crying or lose interest as she toddled after him. He _is_ seven years older than her, after all. But that had never happened and the relationship Will and Jules have forged over the years is something she could have never expected, but also leaves her with a grateful sense of awe. Felicity never had any siblings, so she doesn't know for sure, but she thinks that what Jules and Will have is exceptional. She thinks it's rare and precious, and she really can't imagine either one without the other at this point.

It's gentle and slow as Oliver hands his infant daughter off to his son, adjusting his hold and reminding him to support her neck. It takes a moment, but Will gets the hang of it quickly and he's so very proud of himself once he does, looking up toward where his stepmother is lying in the bed watching on.

" _I got it!_ " he declares triumphantly. " _See Felicity? I've got her!_ "

" _You do_ ," she replies, the smile on her face barely visible from the angle of the camera.

" _Hi Jules! Hiya!_ " Will says again excitedly. Jules smacks her lips at him and grabs his thumb in her tiny fingers, gripping for all she's worth. " _She's really strong_!"

She blows bubbles at him and he laughs happily, sticking his tongue out in return, which seems to utterly shock her. Oliver wraps an arm around Will, encompassing both of his children as they interact for the first time. He watches them for a moment before looking toward where Felicity lies in the nearby bed. Even given the distance between him and the camera, she can still see the dewiness of his eyes and she can still make out the words as he mouths ' _thank you'_ to her.

' _Thank you, too_ ,' she hears herself murmur back just before the screen goes black.

"But…" Jules ventures before hesitating. There are more videos to come, but Felicity hits the button to turn off the tablet and devote her attention to her daughter here and now. The videos will be there later.

"But what?" she asks as Jules as the girl plays with the fabric of her sleeve.

"But… I wasn't Ellie," she says quietly. "I don't understand. You wanted _Ellie_."

That she still thinks that is like a knife to Felicity's heart, but this also feels like a turning point, like an opportunity she can't afford to let slip by.

"And yet," she says slowly, "it was so much better that we had you."

Jules' eyes bug out hugely at that and her cheeks turn pink as her eyes dart toward the open door. It's like she's looking for Ellie, to make sure she hadn't heard that. But that proves two things - first, that she's completely unaware that her sister is incapable of doing anything quietly at this age and second, that she completely misunderstood her mother's words.

"When I was pregnant with you, I thought you might be Ellie born earlier," Felicity confesses. She holds Jules tighter as she says this, like she's afraid she's going to scare the girl off. "There were times I even thought that might be something I wanted, but that's only because I didn't know yet."

"Didn't know _what_ yet?" Jules asks guardedly.

"That I'd love you every bit as much as I love her," Felicity confides. "That having both of you was going to be so, _so_ much better than just having Ellie. Jules, there is not a thing in this world that I would trade the experience of being your mother for. Nothing."

"Nothing?" Jules asks, disbelief painted across her every feature.

"Nothing," Felicity replies with fierce honesty. "Not having Ellie earlier, not having the other Ellie back. _Nothing_. You're _you_ , baby girl. You are so special. You impress me every day. I would do anything for you. Anything at all. So would your dad. So would Will."

Nerves flitter across Jules' face. Getting what she wants, hearing what she'd like to believe, those are things she's never trusted easily.

"You are the cornerstone of this family, Jules. _You_ are," Felicity emphasizes, her voice breaking as she holds tightly to her daughter and silently prays she understands, that she believes. "You are my first baby. Will's first sibling. Your father's first daughter. The original Ellie showed your dad and I that we wanted to be a family. But, honey, you're the one who made us one."

Felicity will never know exactly what part of all of this gets through to her, but something does. Jules lets go of her mother's shirt to throw her arms around her neck instead, letting out a relieved sob into her shoulder.

In hindsight, she'll be hardpressed to decide which of them needed this more. Weight she hadn't even known existed feels like it melts right off of her and it's replaced with a lightness of heart and spirit, a sort of solidarity she's never really found with her older daughter before. It is so hard-won, but maybe that just makes it mean more.

"I love you, Mommy," Jules says with a shuddering breath and wet eyes pressed to the collar of her mother's shirt. Felicity feels like her heart might burst on the spot and she clings to her daughter with a newfound sense of purpose.

"I love you, too." It sounds like a prayer, like a vow. Maybe in some ways it is. Maybe it's every bit as important as the ones she'd said when she'd married Oliver. Maybe it's actually more important. "I will love you every day of my life. Always. I could live to be a hundred years old and I would never love anyone more than I love you, Jules."

She says nothing, but Jules nods against her neck and it's the best feeling Felicity's ever had. This feels like solid ground, like the first step of a joint journey together, like they're finally, _finally_ on the same page. She kisses the top of her daughter's head several times - it's almost compulsive - and shuts her eyes hard against the tears that have welled up past the point of containment.

"I want you to believe that, Jules," she whispers. "Now and always. No matter what. I need you to know that. Because, God, baby girl, you deserve it so much. I want that for you - I want _everything_ for you - but I especially want you to know how loved you really are."

The unity found in this moment is as beautiful as it is unexpected. Jules holds on for all she's worth, her mother's hands rubbing her back as she lets out shuddering, relieved sobs into her mom's neck. Those tears are the best thing Felicity can even imagine. Because they're healing, because they're washing clean the scars and bruises of their relationship.

It is, by far, the best birthday present she could have imagined, but it feels as much a gift for her as it is for Jules. She has wanted this so badly, struggled for this kind of understanding between them for so very long. But she and Jules have so frequently crossed wires, talked _at_ each other instead of _to_ each other, and this trust is so very hard won.

But maybe that's good. Maybe that's _better_ , because now that they're here, maybe it'll stick. Maybe it'll stay forever.

God, she hopes so.

Felicity has no idea how long they sit there. Distantly, she can hear the laughter of Ellie and Sara in the back yard. Buster's concern for his girl gives way to some kind of distraction and he wanders from the room. The front door opens and shuts and Felicity glances toward her office doorway to find Will watching them with concern. Jules doesn't even pick up her head though and Felicity just smiles at her stepson and shakes her head softly. He takes the hint and leaves them alone, wandering toward the kitchen, no doubt on a mission to eat the contents of the entire fridge - a sixteen-year-old boy's appetite is something else.

But she and Jules stay in a little bubble of their own making right up until the patter of tiny feet echoes through the house and a half-awake Nate stumbles into the room.

'Half-awake' might be charitable, actually. He's rubbing at his eyes with one hand and dragging a teddy bear by the ear with his other. He can't quite seem to get his feet to work the way he wants yet and he blearily stumbles into the doorframe as he tries to make his way over to them.

Nate doesn't say anything, though. The two-and-a-half year old just climbs up onto the chair with them, wedging himself between his mother and his oldest sister with a contented sigh and wrapping his arms around Jules' midsection and nuzzling in. He's such an affectionate kid, so very tactile.

"Hey," Jules greets him, letting go of her mom with one hand to pet the back of Nate's hair. He _loves_ that. Playing with his hair is the very easiest way to get him to fall asleep.

"Hi," he says, yawning hugely as he finishes the word. "You're home. Is it birthday time now?"

"It's been my birthday all day," Jules tells him. "That's how birthdays work."

Nate wakes up a little more at that, looking up between his mom and sister. "Is there _cake_ though?"

Of course that's where his mind goes. This boy's sweet tooth is absurd. But that hardly matters right now. What matters to Felicity is that she's got two of her babies on her lap right now, safe and content and openly affectionate. She tries to hold this in her mind, to take a snapshot of it so it lasts forever and ever.

She's so very glad she took the day off of work. There's not a thing in the world she'd trade this experience for.

"Not yet, goofball," Jules says, ruffling his hair.

"But soon?" Nate questions, his eyes huge and pleading. "There's gotta be cake. Cake makes birthdays good."

"There will be," Jules says. She's smiling. She's _honestly smiling_. It lights up her eyes and makes her look so happy, so at peace, so at home in her own skin. It's beautiful to the point where Felicity could positively sob at the sight of it. "But…" Jules continues, looking up at her mom as she keeps talking. "It's already been a pretty great birthday, even without the cake."


	32. May 2018

**A/N** \- TRIGGER WARNING - Postpartum depression

 **May 2018**

She's not sad. Sad would be better. Sad would be… Well, it would be something.

Right now, Felicity feels nothing.

There's a gaping hole in her chest, a vacuum where everything that makes her _her_ should be. She's broken, shattered into tiny bits and she doesn't know where all the pieces went or how it happened. She knows there's a way to find them, to collect them again, to put herself back together, but it's just so daunting, so overwhelming.

Like everything else is these days.

Ellie is just over two weeks old.

She's a good baby. A _great_ baby. She's everything that Felicity has always known she'd be. Everything she's wanted for years, since that little girl with blonde curls had reached for her from Barry's arms and called her ' _Momma,'_ since she'd woken up to a pillow fort in Oliver's bedroom at the Manor, since she scaled the ladder to an otherworldly fairy kingdom in the trees. She wants this. She knows she does.

But she doesn't feel it.

The newborn is sprawled across her lap, utterly passed out after a feeding. She's in that dazed, happy, sleepy place that Felicity's mom has always called a 'milk coma.' Even fast asleep, her little lips are turned upwards in a contented smile, tiny puffs of air slipping through her lips, her eyes darting about under closed lids.

It should be endearing. It should be heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Instead, Felicity feels like she's separated from the moment, like there's a giant chasm between her and the baby. Ellie doesn't even feel like _hers_ , doesn't even feel real. Everything around her is just mimicking life, like she's watching someone else's reality play out in front her, like she doesn't actually belong, and it leaves her wondering what the hell she's even doing.

One tear slips down her cheek and then another. Burning sears her eyes, turning Ellie into an indistinct blur.

They deserve better than this, than her. Ellie is beautiful, perfect. And Jules, God, but Jules deserves a mom who can do things for her, who can connect and not have to fake her smiles. And Oliver? Oliver's the best husband and father in the entire world. He deserves a wife who's happy, who _feels_. He shouldn't have to wonder if he's done something wrong. He shouldn't have to pick up the slack while she flounders and fails on every possible level.

Maybe she should just go. Maybe they'd be better without her. Maybe she's just dragging them all down. Maybe…

"Hey."

Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears away before looking up.

Oliver leans against the doorframe, arms folded casually across his broad chest as he watches her.

How long has he been there? She has no idea. She doesn't even know how long she's been sitting here herself. She'd been going through the motions earlier, doing what was required, what she needed to, and then…

She swallows past the lump in her throat and sits up a bit, adjusting Ellie like she should have been.

If she'd seen him earlier she'd have put up a better front, tried to seem more normal, more okay.

He's not the only one who can wear masks.

"Hey," she echoes. It feels like she waited too long to respond. She forces a smile onto her face. It's unnatural, ill-fitting and she has to fight to keep it there.

"She's really out," he notes, gazing down at Ellie's prone form sprawled across her lap. The grin on his face doesn't just pull at his lips, it lights up his eyes, crinkles the edges of them with happy adoration of their little girl. That's a thing Felicity knows full well she can't fake. He pushes off the doorframe. "Let's get her to bed for a bit."

Oliver crosses the room before crouching down to gently lift the newborn into his arms. Ellie makes a little noise and her arms jolt like she's grappling for stability, but she doesn't wake, instead turning toward the warmth of her father's chest with a contented, sleepy sigh.

They look right. They look suited, like a picture you might find on Pinterest of some beautiful little perfect family moment that people pin with notes that say 'goals for someday!'

Felicity doesn't fit that and she knows it. She's as far from put together as someone can get and no one's goal for their future right now. Makeup feels pointless and she can't remember the last time she bothered with more than a messy ponytail for her hair or clothes beyond sweatpants and Oliver's shirts. It'll be nearly another month before the bleeding that follows birth finally stops. She's carrying excess weight that makes her feel like she's somehow slipped into someone else's body. Her breasts ache, and they're leaking. It won't stop until she's done nursing and the smell of breast milk constantly follows her. Dark circles beneath her eyes are well earned, but they leave her feeling hollow, emptied out, like she has nothing left to give and nothing to keep for herself either.

She watches Oliver with their daughter, feeling like a stranger in someone else's house.

Ellie doesn't wake when he places her gently into her crib. He leans over to kiss her forehead, brushing his fingers through the blonde wispy curls at her temple before stepping back. And then he turns all his attention back to his wife.

Felicity can't help it - she shifts, wrapping her arms around herself, shrinking back into the rocking chair. His gaze doesn't waver an inch. She's not sure what to do with that. She doesn't really want to be seen right now. There's too much she'd prefer went unnoticed.

"Come on," Oliver says, offering her his hand. "I made us lunch."

She hesitates before placing her fingers in his and he helps her stand.

The second she's up, an irrational bolt of annoyance surges through her. She doesn't need his help, she wants to bite out. She can stand on her own, thanks. Except… except this isn't new and he's not saying that at all. He's _always_ offered her his hand and it's never once meant he thought her incapable of doing things herself. So maybe her irritation is because she's not sure how long she'd have sat without his help. Her limbs feel heavy, sluggish, like there's weights attached to all of them.

Even moving seems like a chore.

Felicity sighs, one she feels to her bones. "I think I'd just like a nap," she says, letting go of his hand to run her fingers through her hair.

Oliver tries to hide his reaction, but she knows him too well. He doesn't like her answer. She can tell from the way his face tightens in a grimace and she's pretty sure she can see him physically biting his tongue in an effort to think through his words before letting them out.

It only annoys her more.

" _Just say it!"_ she wants to yell at him. " _Stop walking on fucking eggshells. I'm weak. I'm not good enough. I know that. I know you know that. So just fucking say it!_ "

But she _is_ weak and she is broken.

Felicity looks to the side, gritting her teeth. A cheerful cartoon elephant wall decal stares back at her. She wants to peel it right off just to get it to stop smiling at her.

"When was the last time you ate a meal, Felicity?" Oliver asks her. She hates the hesitation in his voice almost as much as she hates the question.

"What does it matter?" she snaps, turning back to him with a sharp glare.

It's enough that he flinches and that gaping hole where her heart feels like it should be drops further. He doesn't deserve this. He just cares about her. God, how can she be so horrible to him? She should just leave, just go. He wouldn't understand, but it would be better. He'd be happier without her, eventually. They all would. But the idea of going makes an echo of sorrow slice through her. How horrible is it that the feeling actually comes as a relief? It's _something_. It's an emotion, a resonance of sensation that feels like the tingle of a missing limb. And she just wants… she just wants…

"I'm sorry," Felicity whispers, her voice choking, energy draining from her with each word. "I'm just so tired. That's all. I just… I just need some sleep. I'm just tired."

"No," he says quietly. He rests a hand on her elbow, a ghostly touch, like he's afraid she's going to scatter. She hates it. "You're not."

"I am," she counters, pulling away from him. She rubs the spot on her arm where he'd touched her. "I have a two week old and a three year old. I'm exhausted. Of course I am."

"Sure." Oliver presses his lips together into a thin line. "But that's not all this is. I know better this time. And so do you."

Felicity blinks hard, refusing to look away for a long moment because _no, no, that is all_ , but it's too much and she bows her head. She doesn't even realize she's crying until she sees the drop slide down her nose and plop down onto her bare foot. She cries so much these days. You'd think she'd feel it, that it would seem cleansing or at least emotionally charged, but it's more like a compulsive reaction, something she _has_ to do. And it means so very little.

"It's all in my head, Oliver," she says. "It's fine."

"No, Felicity, it's really not," he replies firmly. She scowls through the tears, looking up at him, annoyance suddenly overtaking the emptiness again, but he doesn't back down. "You need help. And that's okay."

"No," Felicity snaps. It's too loud and she glances toward Ellie to make sure she hasn't accidentally woken the newborn. But the baby sleeps soundly, unaware of everything going on just a few feet away from her. "No," she repeats in an intense but quieter voice. "It's not okay. I just need to… I just need to push myself more. I'm sorry, okay? It'll be fine. I just need to find a new routine and it'll be alright."

Oliver watches her, seeing right through her.

She hates the sudden wash of vulnerability that runs through her.

"You aren't alone, Felicity," he says, stepping forward and taking her hand in his. She tries to tug it away - she's _fine_ , she will be _fine_ \- but his grip tells her that he's not letting go, not giving her an avenue of escape. When the realization hits her, it almost comes as a relief. "I already called your doctor."

Felicity's jaw drops. "You _called my doctor_?" she demands. "Did you have a nice chat about the crazy new mom who's just a little overwhelmed and just needs a damned nap?"

"No," he counters, shaking his head. "I told him how worried I am about my wife and asked what I could do to help."

Well… _shit_. That saps the fight right out of her.

"I love you more than anything, Felicity. You're sick. And you're hiding how much you hurt. Everyone wants to help you, honey. But you've got to let us."

"Who is 'everyone?'" she asks warily.

"Your mom," he replies before letting out a hard sigh. "Me. My mom. Your doctor. Thea, Digg… Will."

Felicity starts. " _Will_?"

"He asked me why you were sad today," Oliver tells her. "He wanted to know what he could do to cheer you up."

She shakes her head, turning to the door before looking at Oliver again. "He's here?"

"Felicity…" Oliver pauses, frowning. "You said hi to him when he got here an hour ago. He's playing with Jules out back right now because he thought if you saw her happy it might make you happy, too."

 _Oh God._

Felicity sags at that, her free hand pressing against her mouth trying to cage in the welling sound of sorrow that suddenly feels like it might drown her. "He noticed?" she asks, horrified by the idea.

"He's almost ten," Oliver says, stepping closer. He knows, now, that it's easier to let her come to him. He doesn't grab her like he would have a few weeks ago. Now he just skates his hand up her arm, brushing it over her cheek, his touch so soft she barely feels it. "And he loves you. Of course he noticed."

"I'm so sorry," she breathes out against her hand. She's nauseous. She could throw up right now if there were anything at all in her stomach. "I didn't mean to hurt him, Oliver. I promise. I'm so sorry."

"He's not hurt, honey," Oliver instantly replies. "He's fine." This time he does pull her into his arms as he talks. Felicity tenses, because she doesn't deserve this at all. She shouldn't be comforted right now. This is all her fault. And, honestly, she doesn't feel a whole lot better, even with his arms around her. But she does feel like a bit of the weight slides off her shoulders. She's still hollow. Still empty. But she's a bit less pulled down and for the first time in days she feels like she can breathe. Oliver's voice is just as gentle, just as soft as he continues, "He's just worried about you. Just like the rest of us."

"I'll try harder," Felicity promises. "I will."

"Wanting to get better is the first step," he agrees, kissing her forehead the same way he'd kissed Ellie's a bit ago. She wants to shake her head and wipe it away, because she doesn't deserve something so tender. "But you can't do it alone. You need medication and you need therapy. Just like you did after Jules was born. Suffering in silence isn't doing you any favors, Felicity. It's not doing _anyone_ any favors."

"You all deserve someone better than me," she tells him in the quietest voice imaginable. "What kind of mother looks at her baby and doesn't feel anything? What kind of wife just gets pissed off when her husband tries to help her?"

"The kind who's fighting a battle no one else can even see," Oliver says. "None of this is your fault."

"But it is!" she argues. "It is. It's in my head. It's how I think and how I feel. Of course that's my fault. How could that _not_ be my fault?"

"You're a smart woman," Oliver reminds her. "You know better than that."

She does. Some part of her knows he's right. She did research after this happened with Jules, after _months_ of suffering in silence, completely unaware of what was going on with her mind and her body. Once she'd started feeling better, more like herself, she'd read up as much as she could. She knows something like one-in-five mothers wind up with postpartum depression. She knows the sudden drop in hormones in her body have probably set her emotions in a tailspin of hopelessness and anxiety, that she wouldn't feel this sense of worthlessness or total lack of joy if she were in her right mind.

But knowing that and _feeling_ it are two different things entirely and with an illness in her head, it's her head telling her she should be able to fix it on her own.

She should have to fix it on her own.

"I made a phone appointment for you with your doctor," Oliver says. She jerks at that, but he's not done. "It's in half an hour. If you're okay with it, I'd like to be on the call, too. If you tell him what you're going through, he'll call you in a prescription right away and we can start fighting this."

 _No._ It's her gut reaction. It's her only reaction. But… she hesitates. She wants to push back, to swear she'll be fine, that she can handle this on her own. But… but can she? And should she have to? Especially if everyone around her is noticing it in spite of her efforts, if even _Will_ is seeing it… God, has Jules picked up on anything? She can't even imagine how unfair that would be to the toddler.

"Asking for help doesn't make you weak, Felicity," Oliver says. "It means you're strong enough and smart enough to admit when it's too much for you."

"It is," she whispers before she even realizes she's speaking. "God, it really is too much, Oliver. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No one's blaming you and there's nothing to be sorry for," Oliver tells her. He looks relieved as he pulls her closer, holding her. He kisses her forehead again, and this time he lingers. "I'm proud of you. I can't understand what you're going through, but I get that it's hard and I know it's not easy to ask for help."

"Took being shot by your mother for you to ask for help," she points out.

It almost sounds normal, almost seems like her usual self and the grin on Oliver's face makes her so very happy that she voiced the thought.

"Imagine if I'd asked for help earlier," he points out.

Felicity scoffs. "You didn't need me earlier. Not really."

"Felicity… I've always needed you," Oliver tells her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Even when I didn't know it yet, I needed you." Just the thought of that makes her want to cry again, even if she can't quite pinpoint why. "Come on," he urges. "Let's get a quick bite to eat before that call and then I'll have your mom pick up the prescription while we sit out back and watch the kids play. You can take a nap on the lawn chair, if you need to."

"That sounds pretty good," she allows. She closes her eyes, her shoulders falling. "Especially the nap part."

He pulls her along, leading her from the room, grabbing the baby monitor as they go.

It feels good, honestly, letting him take charge and giving herself permission to show everything she's feeling - and everything she's not. They talk about it over tuna sandwiches as Will and Jules laugh together out back and Ellie sleeps. Oliver doesn't judge, doesn't hold anything against her, instead wanting only to understand and help her. He keeps hold of her hand as she talks, sliding his thumb against her skin when she cries for no apparent reason. The relief of that is monumental.

Oliver can't fix her. That's not how this works. But he'll help her pick up the pieces as she fixes herself.

And that, in the end, is exactly what she needs.


	33. March 2031

**A/N** \- TW: Coping with chronic illness

Like last week's chapter, I did some research on this topic before writing it. Unlike last week's chapter, I don't have direct experience with it. When we gave Thea such a dire outcome in FiCoN, it was never going to be a temporary thing. In fact, at times, we had intended to kill her off during that story. There are a lot of reasons we didn't (and I'm still glad we made that choice). It would have been remiss of me to avoid what she goes now, but I can admit I'm anxious about having done it justice. I understand that this is a heavy and serious topic (I promise next week's will not have the same tone; I know this makes two weeks in a row with difficult-to-read health problems and I totally recommend the flashfic series if you need some fluff to balance out). I've done my best to treat it with respect and try to put myself in her shoes for a few pages. I hope it's worked out. Until next week (which is mostly Ameliam)... enjoy.

 **March 2031**

'Good days' mean something very different now to Thea Harper than they had in years past. It's an ever-evolving definition, really. What was good a year ago, five years ago, a decade ago is not the same as it is today. The girl she'd been _before_ could never have understood the realities of her life today.

It feels so shallow, looking back, the way she'd defined a bad day as one with too much homework or a fight with a friend or even being arrested. Bad days now mean her sanity slips through her fingers and her body rebels against experimental treatments with violent, painful, damaging side-effects. Part of her is equally mad and envious at her younger self; she'd taken so much for granted. But she tries to clear her head of those thoughts, tries to remember that envy and anger get her nowhere, and that she was lucky to have no idea what a 'bad day' was really like for so long.

Looking at her nieces, she surely hopes it's something they never have to discover for themselves.

"Okay, but who actually _buys_ these?" Jules asks, holding up a sky-high, clear stiletto with sparkles running through it from the display and wrinkling her nose in distaste. "I have incredible balance, but even I would probably faceplant in these things. They're ridiculous." She's sixteen now - something that utterly blows Thea's mind - and while she's matured into a surprisingly balanced, sharply intelligent young woman, she also seems to have adopted a typical teenage view that the world is best interpreted through the lens of her own opinions.

"Cinderella would like it," Ellie points out. The sunny twelve-year-old looks past her sister with an " _ooooh_ " a moment later, though. Moving to grab a little ballet flat with a cat's face on the toes and whiskers on its sides. "These are super cute!"

"Disney princesses are a pretty narrow target market, don't you think?" Jules scoffs, putting the shoe down before looking at the flats in her sister's hands. "Do you really want cats on your feet?"

"Sure," Ellie replies brightly. "I can look down and smile at them and it's like they're smiling back up at me. They're fun!"

"They remind me of my old panda flats," Felicity tells her daughters. There's a smile in her voice as she moves to Ellie's side and looks over the shoe with a wistful fondness. Her eyes go wide when she looks at the bottom, though. "But they cost about as much as one of the whiskers on this thing does."

"Well, those were from your pre-Queen days, weren't they?" Thea asks with a smile. She leans heavily on her cane and eyes the seats around her. She's okay for now, but she knows her own limitations and she's not about to push them. This is the first time she's been out for anything other than doctors' appointments or therapy since the latest round of treatments. Roy and her mom were both worried about her going out today. She knows that, but she also knows to take advantage of the opportunity to actually live her life while she has the chance to do so.

Today's a good day… relatively. And she's missed spending time with her nieces and sister-in-law a lot these last two months. The well-meaning phone calls when she was in the hospital had been a far cry from what she'd needed from them. All of her loved ones' worry and walking on eggshells around her had been understandable, but they'd also hurt. She wants _normal_. She needs it. Even if it's under a new definition. And it's so very exhausting knowing everyone looks at her and sees her limitations first. She refuses to be reduced to that. She might struggle with her illness, but she will not allow herself to be defined by it.

"I want something red," Thea declares. "Bright, loud, stoplight red. I want something that makes a statement… with no heel and a sensible tread." She looks at Jules and holds up a finger before adding, "But, I'll have you know that once upon a time, I'd have rocked a stiletto that height without tripping once."

The disbelieving noise Jules makes as she rolls her eyes is the sort of thing she's gotten accustomed to hearing from the teen. It's funny, because it reminds her so strongly of herself at that age. It's all bravado and it makes Thea grin hugely at the thought of her brother raising a daughter that reminds her so sharply of herself. " _Sure_ you would have," Jules notes sarcastically.

"No, it's true," Felicity says, backing her sister-in-law up. "Your Aunt Thea could've probably walked on stilts and still had the fashion pages gushing over her trend-setting style, before you were born."

"Bet I could have made Cinderella shoes popular, even," Thea declares loftily.

"You still could," Felicity assures her, taking hold of her free arm and hugging it close. Thea lets herself lean against her sister-in-law slightly. It's nice. She's missed this. They've had so much time robbed from them over the years, but she does her best not to dwell on that because right now is pretty great. Her mind is quiet. It's her own. And while her bones ache and she knows she doesn't have terribly long before she needs to take a seat and rest, she's still better off than she has been most of these last few years and she's grateful for that.

"I need a designer cane," Thea snarks. It's a little self-effacing, but then, so is she. "Maybe I could market my own line."

"You can do anything you put your mind to," Felicity assures her. It's supportive, even if it's not entirely true, but Thea takes it in the spirit it was meant and rests her cheek against her sister-in-law's shoulder. The relief at leaning against her is more than Thea expected, though. Maybe she's pushed herself more than she'd thought. "Know what, girls?" Felicity chimes in. "Why don't we go grab some lunch? The shoes will be here later."

It's only eleven. Restaurants are barely even _open_ , but Thea knows this is entirely for her benefit. Felicity's hold on her is more purposeful than it had started out and she's well aware that any desire for lunch is out of a crafty attempt to get them sitting and resting for a bit. Part of her wants to tell her sister-in-law that she knows what her body can and cannot do, that she's okay for a bit more, but another part knows this is as much for the girls' benefit as for hers. They're aware of her illness, of course. It's been a part of her life since before either of her nieces were born. But the details of it, the severity of it… that's something Thea prefers not to broadcast too strongly. To the girls, she's just Aunt Thea. She's never wanted the intensity of her health problems to be terribly apparent to them. And, they have always absorbed her disability as a part of who she is - it's all they've ever known. It's harder with her mom, with Oliver, with Felicity, sometimes. They all remember _before_ , still sometimes seem to look at her and see what was done to her, like a surface layer masking who she really is. But Thea knows better. She's not the same person she used to be any more than they're the same people _they_ used to be. It's just a starker contrast with her than with them.

"I could eat," Thea agrees.

Jules abandons the Cinderella stilettos easily, putting the shoe down and turning her attention entirely to her mom and aunt, but Ellie takes a moment to put down the kitten flats. When she does, it's with a longing little sigh and Thea has to chuckle because for all that Jules reminds her more of herself than Ellie does… the younger girl does have her moments.

"Buy them," Thea advises. Ellie jolts and looks at her in surprise. "I'll buy them for you. You clearly want them."

"Yeah," Ellie agrees, but her voice is sad. "But they're not worth it. I can't spend that much on a pair of shoes, even if they are cute. There are so many more important things that $800 could go toward. How many people could that feed? How many teachers could get classroom supplies?"

And, just like that, Thea sees a whole lot less of teenager-her in her younger niece.

"Let me see the shoe," Jules insists, holding out her hand. Ellie passes the flat to her big sister and watches as the older girl looks it over. "I bet we could make a knock-off. It's not that you love the brand or whatever, it's the cats. I can paint some canvas ballet flats and we can glue some whiskers on them."

"Really?" Ellie asks. And, oh, but her face lights up at that. It's adorable, and the way she looks up to Jules clearly is a point of pride for the older girl. Jules loves being held in high esteem by her sister. And this… this is what Thea's missed the most these last few months. Missing out on the way her nieces have grown and bonded more, on all these family moments, that's been such a hard part of her latest treatment. The pain is bad. The fear is worse. And getting her hopes up for an actual route toward being solidly healthy only to have them dashed is worst of all. But missing out on life had been a close second. The kids have grown and changed so much, so quickly, and she doesn't want it to all pass her by.

"Sure," Jules shrugs, handing the shoe back. "I don't see why not. Then you can make the cat whatever color you want. It'll be fun."

"How about I buy you the paint and the cheap shoes and donate the difference to whatever charity you want?" Thea suggests.

"That'd be awesome!" Ellie declares gleefully. She's hopping on her toes with giddy excitement. " _Oh_ , maybe the foundation can get a few new laptops or some tools for the training programs? Or we can expand outreach more. Dani said the career wardrobe closet is running low on basics, too, you know. I bet that much money could get a few nice-looking interview outfits. Nothing fancy, but enough to give a few people a chance. And things like socks or underwear! People never donate those, right?"

"Slow down!" Thea laughs, shaking her head. " _Dani_ said? You've been hanging around the foundation?"

"Well… yeah," Ellie shrugs. "I like helping and there's always something that needs to be done." That's doubly true whenever Thea's going through new treatments, she knows. The foundation is her baby, but Roy's taken the helm as frequently as she has since they started it. Dani's backed them both up in the main office, with Donna spearheading fundraising events, and Sin filling in at the garage with hands-on skill training any time her health has taken both her and Roy away. But she hadn't realized her niece was all that involved, not beyond spending much of last summer doing odd jobs at her side. "I've been there a lot more since Christmas. Dani says she doesn't know what she'd do without me," Ellie declares proudly.

"And you're okay with this?" Thea asks Felicity slowly. The foundation does good work - _great_ work - but, by necessity, it's in pretty much the worst part of the Glades.

"Of course I am," Felicity answers. "It's the Queen Family Foundation. It needs all the involvement from the Queen family we can get. It's our responsibility. And it's not like she goes down there alone."

"Sara comes with me usually," Ellie chimes in. "And you know Sin basically lives there, so she's always around. Mom's gone for a couple hours once a month to help with the computers since like forever. Lyla teaches that women's self defense class, of course. Oh! And Will said he's gonna bring some guys from the firehouse to talk about career opportunities in emergency response. Even Jules started coming sometimes to paint and stuff."

Jules shrugs like it doesn't matter, but she smiles a little and Thea knows that's a sure sign that it does. "Ellie said there was a girl hanging around there who liked painting but didn't have any supplies. I figured I've got plenty, so I brought her some," Jules says. "She likes seeing my stuff. She's kinda cool, I guess. I've gone down a few times to show her some things and loan her some books."

"I bet she appreciates that," Thea offers up. She says it in an offhanded way, because she knows her niece and she's well aware that too big a spotlight will make her uneasy.

"We can talk about it more at lunch," Felicity states. Her voice is firm and clear. She's not willing to entertain standing here much longer and Thea's both kind of grateful and a little annoyed by that. She knows her sister-in-law means well, that she cares, and she _does_ need a break soon, but she can manage her own life. If she'd truly needed a rest, she'd have said so herself. She doesn't want people walking on eggshells around her, waiting for her to break. She's Thea Queen Harper and she is made of stronger stuff than that.

More and more lately, though, it's been the treatments that have made her feel fragile, that have robbed her of time with her family and friends, time devoted to her work. It's been nearly seventeen years that she's been dealing with the realities of what was done to her, and the optimism she'd once had for a full recovery has faded away over the years. Her focus these days is on managing her condition, on living her life. Every experimental treatment they've run her through has brought with it brutal side effects - sometimes keeping her out of commission for months, sometimes robbing her of her sanity, often robbing her of her mobility. It's led to long, _long_ conversations with Roy lately, ones that reevaluate her goals for her life, for her health. It's about balance now, more than anything else. She's so very tired of slashing her quality of life in pursuit of more quantity of life. She's missed out on so much, too much, and she's fast-finding that there are limits to what she'll endure in the quest for something better.

"Lunch," Ellie agrees brightly, snapping Thea's attention back to the moment. The not-quite-teenage girl breezes out the door, holding it open and smiling back at them with a grin. Damn, but she's adorable. She's grown so much in this last year, shedding the last of that 'little girl' look and fast-shifting into a strikingly pretty, confident young woman. And Thea had missed so much of it. She'd missed Jules' sixteenth birthday, lost in a haze of superpowered bloodlust while locked up in a room at Star Labs in preparation for the new treatment. She hadn't been there for eight-year-old Nate's science fair or Ellie's first middle school dance. And that hurts. It hurts in ways she couldn't have anticipated when first taking stock of the cost of her injuries nearly two decades ago. But, then, life looks different now than it did then. She's older - she's been through so much - and the perspective she's gained has changed things wildly for her over the years.

Jules lowers her sunglasses off the top of her head as she strides out the door and joins Ellie. Thea and Felicity follow suit. Thea knows she's a bit on the slow side and that's frustrating to her, but no one else seems bothered by it, even if Ellie does seem to keep having to force herself to pace her stride once the four of them make their way down the street.

"Can we do the bistro?" Ellie asks. "Aunt That would love their new seasonal menu. They've got this pizza with winter veggies and chevre and it's _so good_. You'll just love it, Aunt Thea."

"Sure," Felicity agrees. "As long as Jules doesn't mind?"

"Nah," Jules shrugs. "That's fine with me. I like their fish and chips." Ellie dances on her tiptoes and claps her hands delightedly before looping her arm through her sister's. It's silly how happy she looks at the idea, but that's just Ellie. She's such a bright, happy kid and even the smallest thing seems to make her face light up with joy.

The girls are a few steps ahead, but they're clearly hanging back a touch, trying to keep pace with their mom and aunt.

"You know, I bet they'll have a wait," Thea tells the girls. "Why don't you two do us a favor and hurry over there to get a table. That way we won't have to stand around when we get there. I'd really appreciate it."

In truth, none of the Queens have to wait long for service anywhere they go - Thea's pretty sure the salesperson at the shoe store was sorely disappointed when they walked out without buying anything - but it lets the girls go at their own pace and doesn't leave Thea feeling like she should push herself to hurry up.

"Oh, that's a good idea!" Ellie replies. "Did you want a booth or a table, Aunt Thea?"

"Tables are easier. Thank you, Ellie," Thea tells her. "If you could order me a water once you're seated, I'd appreciate that."

"Will do! See you soon," Ellie declares and the two girls hurry down the street at a brisk pace without another word.

That kind of energy is the sort of thing that astounds Thea these days and the moment the girls round the corner, she finds herself slowing more, sagging a little bit. So, maybe she'd been pushing herself a _little_ for their sake.

"Did you want to sit for a moment?" Felicity offers. She's been paying close attention, _very_ close attention. Thea wonders how long she'd chatted with Roy about what to watch for before this little trip.

"Maybe at the bench after next," Thea allows. "I'm okay for now. I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know," Felicity agrees. "But don't push yourself for my sake."

"I'm not," Thea counters. "I'm pushing myself for mine."

The look Felicity gives her is a little disbelieving, but it's true. Yes, today is pushing boundaries as it is, but Thea needs to find her new normal and she knows it. Every round of treatments, every stupid path they've gone down to fight this thing, has left her redefining her own limitations. She's relearning her own body right now, what it can do, what it can't. She's figured out some of that over the past few weeks at home, but there's no substitute for actually spending time out in the world. And if she wants to get back to work - and _god_ she does… she does; her foundation needs her and she needs it - then she needs to sort this through. The sooner the better.

"Okay," Felicity says easily. Thea doesn't think she means it, but it ends the conversation anyhow and she'll take that.

"So, what have I missed during my most recent convalescence?" Thea asks. If it sounds a little bitter, that's something she feels is more than fair. She's allowed to be frustrated at her own situation and sometimes she needs to let that out to someone other than Roy. He's suffered the effects of her condition as surely as she has, just in a completely different way. Marrying him was the best and most selfish decision she ever made, she thinks. But it's always been worth it. She absolutely cannot imagine her life without Roy at her side. It would have lost so much meaning. "Ellie grew up so much while I wasn't looking."

"I know," Felicity agrees with a sigh. "I keep going to grab her hand and then I remember she's almost thirteen, not five and it sort of blows my mind."

"At least she's not as tall as you yet," Thea points out. Felicity groans at that. Jules is ever-so-barely taller than her and _wow_ that has to be weird. They should've figured. It's not like Oliver's short, so it makes sense Jules would be taller than her mom, but Thea doubts her sister-in-law was ready for it, anyhow. Still, poking fun at her is incredibly enjoyable, especially given the last few months in near-isolation. "Wait 'til it's Nate," Thea adds with a grin. "That boy is gonna leave you in the dust."

"I'm actively choosing not to think about that!" Felicity informs her with a forced smile that makes Thea laugh.

"Really, Felicity… they're beautiful," Thea says a little more soberly. There's a bench nearby and she finally admits to herself she needs to sit for a few minutes. The restaurant is really only a block and a half away. She _should_ be able to walk there. It wouldn't have been a problem last fall - and she hopes it won't be a problem again soon - but right now… right now her body needs a break. She sighs in relief the moment she leans back on the park bench and rests her cane against the side, rubbing her sore thighs just above the knees for a moment. Her physical therapist is probably not going to be happy about how much she's pushed herself today, but that's too bad. Sometimes these things are worth it and - despite his training - she still knows her own body better than he does. "I've missed them. I've missed all of you so much."

"We've missed you too," Felicity tells her, taking a seat next to her and squeezing her shoulder lightly in affection.

"I bet it was hard on Ollie when he couldn't visit me, huh?" Thea asks, looking to Felicity with slightly guilty eyes. It's unfounded, that sense of responsibility over her brother's undoubtedly hurt feelings, but that doesn't mean she feels it any less. For safety's sake, for the sake of her own health and the well-being of everyone around her, visitors had been _extremely_ limited. She hadn't even seen Roy for the first two weeks. She'd finally been able to have visitors a couple of weeks ago and Oliver had been the first one there, but it hadn't been anywhere near the celebration they'd been hoping for. The latest round of treatment had been a total flop.

"He coped," Felicity replies as she sits next to Thea. She busies herself with watching as she smooths her hand over her wrinkle-free jeans, though, and she won't meet Thea's eyes. So… it was bad. Ollie hadn't handled it well. And Felicity would prefer she not know that. Great. "Are you and Roy coming to dinner on Sunday?"

It's far from the subtle shift of conversation that Felicity seems to think it is, but Thea lets that slide for the moment. "I'd like to," she says. "I want to see Will. But let's wait and see how I am."

"He'd love to see you, too," Felicity replies. "He's been very busy lately, between volunteering with the fire department and studying for the written exam. He's taking it really seriously."

"I'm proud of him," Thea says with a light smile. "He's got so much more direction than Ollie or I had at his age and he's got such a good heart."

"He could use to hear that from you," Felicity notes. "Oliver and I tell him all the time, but Samantha is still trying to talk him out of it. It's put a real strain on their relationship. I know she wants what's best for him, but…"

"But sometimes you have to back off and let someone decide what's best for themselves, even if it's not what you'd choose for them," Thea continues. The truth of that sinks heavily into her skin, echoes of frustrated conversations with her own mother in recent days. Moms will always want what's best for their children, at any age, but they can't always necessarily see what that is.

Thea sucks in a long, deep breath of crisp air, savoring it before exhaling sharply, letting it go as she looks to Felicity. "Roy and I talked about it," she starts. "I'm done with the experimental treatments."

Felicity jolts at the words, her eyes widening. Thea can practically see the tension settling in her muscles. "What are you talking about?" Felicity asks warily.

"I'm done," Thea repeats, mustering up a half-smile. It's rueful and sympathetic. If Felicity's reaction tells her anything at all, it's that she's far more at peace with her decision than anyone else in her family will be.

Except Roy. _God_ , she's so thankful for Roy she could cry.

"But you're not cured yet," Felicity points out in astonishment. "You can't just give up."

"I can, actually," Thea counters. "It's been almost seventeen years, Felicity. I'm tired of being a guinea pig. I'm tired of sacrificing months and months of my mental and physical well-being every year in search of something better. Every time I have to go off meds entirely, I'm nothing more than a feral animal. I lose myself. Can you get how terrifying that is? To know you're capable of _anything_? That you're a threat to the people you love most? And for what? A chance at a cure that might not even exist? I don't want to give up the quality of life I _do_ have in search of more. I feel like I'm wasting my life away in labs and hospital beds."

"But... " Felicity says, swallowing and licking her lips. "The treatment that keeps you stable now… it's not sustainable. It will eventually kill you."

"Yeah," Thea agrees. A light breeze drifts by, teasing at her skin and rustling her hair. She lets it wash over her, savors it for the fleeting experience it is. "You're right. It will."

Felicity is clearly stricken, flabbergasted. Maybe it was a mistake to have sprung this information on her quite so suddenly, but Thea thinks there's really no _good_ way to tell your loved ones that you're dying. Then again, that's not how she sees it. Not _really_. She sees it as choosing to live, to enjoy the days she has ahead of her, the moments she's in, rather than grasping for the impossible and whittling away the days in the process.

"We've reached a place where I had to make a choice," Thea says. She takes Felicity's hand in hers, the other woman grips it harder than she was expecting and Thea feels a rush of love and affection surge through through her. She's awfully lucky to have such a wonderful sister-in-law who cares so much about her. Given Ollie's track record, she's well aware that could have gone another way entirely. "Every single trial we've done has run the risk of me dying or, worse, not being able to reach the same level of stability I had before. So… yes, relying on the tried-and-true treatments they've developed so far will eventually kill me. But I'll get to live first. And that's worth it."

Felicity's eyebrows are knit together as she stares down at their hands. She's not crying outright, but Thea can see how very upset she is. It's not even a question.

"How long?" she asks after a moment.

"Four or five good years," Thea tells her. "Six at the most. But I'll get to devote my time to my foundation and to Roy instead of to doctor's appointments and lab work. I might be well enough by the end of summer that he and I can travel for a bit. I think I'd like that. And I'll get to be there for Jules' high school graduation and maybe Ellie's, if I'm lucky. I'll get to see Nate grow to be taller than you," she notes, bumping Felicity's shoulder with her own. "I don't want to miss that."

Felicity nods, but she still doesn't look up, instead shutting her eyes tightly and exhaling a long, steadying breath. It's the sorrow in her profile, more than anything else, that prompts Thea to continue. "I know Ollie won't get this, but-"

"Yes he will," Felicity counters, looking up with a dry, humorless laugh. "If anyone knows what it's like to go through hell for years on end and get to a place where it seems like it'll never end, it's your brother."

That might be true, Thea realizes, but it doesn't mean he'll accept it. "Not all of us get miraculous rescues from purgatory."

"No," Felicity agrees. "I suppose most people don't."

"I'm done trying to be rescued," Thea tells her. "I want to enjoy what I've already got. I know that'll be hard on you and the kids, on Ollie, on my mom, on… on Roy." Her voice breaks a bit on Roy's name. The thought of him having to deal with her eventual death absolutely guts her. It's why she didn't make this decision years ago. "But this is my health and my life. I have to choose what's best for me."

"I understand," Felicity tells her. She doesn't, Thea thinks. Not really. She can't, because she's never had to make a choice like this. And Thea's grateful for that, but it also leaves her feeling a bit lonely in her choice. Between her mom and Roy and now Felicity, there's a fair bit of sympathy, some anger, a lot of sadness, but no one can _relate_ , not in a way that truly gets it. "Please tell me you're going to tell Oliver soon? I won't keep this from him."

"No," Thea shakes her head. "I wouldn't ask you to. That wouldn't be fair. I'll talk to him when we get back."

"He's in session right now," Felicity says, checking the time on her phone. "He'll be back late."

"Excellent," Thea smiles. "Then I'll have a chance to take a nap and recharge before that lovely conversation. But that's for later. Right now, I want to have lunch with my favorite sister-in-law and the two best nieces in the entire world."

She lets go of Felicity's hand and pushes herself up off the bench, feeling stronger either from the brief rest or from the weight of words previously unsaid slipping off her shoulders.

"It's a beautiful day, Felicity," Thea says, turning her face up into the sunshine and letting it wash over her. There's a kind of peace in this, a sort of joy in relishing the small things of the day instead of succumbing to the anxieties of 'what if.' She's missed that in recent years. She's missed so many things. And she's done letting them slip past unnoticed and unenjoyed. "Let's make the most of it."


	34. June 2036

**June 2036**

Amelia's missed Starling City, but the two things she's missed most about it are right in front of her.

"Look at you, all put together and shit!" Celeste declares. Amelia barely has time to smile before the blonde is hugging her tightly. "I couldn't even find matching socks this morning."

"Who says her socks match?" Maggie questions with a quirk of her eyebrow, taking Celeste's place to embrace Amelia. "I've _missed you_ ," she declares brightly.

"Me too," Amelia replies, grinning widely as she steps back and takes in the sight of her friends. "It's been way, way too long."

In truth, they've seen each other every few months, but it feels like an eternity, anyhow. Business brings her to Starling now and then, but their visits rarely linger. Both of the girls had made the trip to Central City when Amelia first moved there, in theory to help her get settled into the large flat she and Thad had settled on. In actuality, it had amounted to little more than Celeste unashamedly enjoying the view as Thad carried in furniture while Maggie nitpicked the arrangement. It had been blatantly obvious that all of her ' _I think that needs to go a little to the left, Thad_ ' comments had been entirely designed to make him continue with the heavy lifting and all the bending over. Good sport that he is, Thad had just smiled and shook his head as he took directions.

But that was last August and in spite of the occasional coffee or rushed lunch-meet-up, Amelia has missed her girls pretty badly. Her job is great and everything is fine with Thad, but there's no substitute for her girlfriends and FaceTime just doesn't cut it long term.

"Come on," Maggie tells her. "We've got a table over near the patio. Celeste called ahead."

"They don't take reservations, though," Amelia points out as she follows the girls across their favorite brunch spot, weaving through a maze of tables toward the patio.

"They do when you're sleeping with the host," Maggie confides quietly.

"You are?" Amelia asks in surprise. "What happened? I thought you and Jeremy were pretty serious."

"Not me," Maggie scoffs, tilting her head toward Celeste, who smiles and wiggles her fingers in greeting. Amelia turns to look back toward the host, who she hadn't even noticed, before giving Celeste a thumbs up of approval. This is an opinion that's only furthered when they get to their table and find a pitcher of mimosas and a bowl of fruit already waiting.

"So… someone's smitten," she notes as she takes a seat and raises an eyebrow toward Celeste.

"He's sweet," she acknowledges, unfolding her napkin and draping it across her lap. "But I think he likes me more because he knows I'm leaving town at the end of summer."

"You're leaving?" Amelia asks, freezing and looking at her friends as they trade glances.

"She was going to wait until you were at least two mimosas in before bringing this up," Maggie informs her.

"Well, get pouring then," Amelia instructs, gesturing toward the pitcher in front of Maggie. "Where are you going?"

"I took a job teaching English in Shanghai for a year," Celeste says, popping a strawberry in her mouth.

"In _China_? Do you even speak Mandarin or Cantonese?" Amelia blinks at her.

"Nope," Celeste says with a shrug. "Don't need to. It's an immersion program."

"Celeste…" Amelia ventures warily, trading a knowing glance with Maggie. "Honey, you hate kids."

"I'm teaching adults," Celeste replies.

"You don't really like them in big doses either," Amelia deadpans.

Maggie snorts and nods. "Believe me, you are not the first person to point this out to her."

"It's just for a year," Celeste points out. "I can make a bit of cash and explore the world a little while I'm at it. I can put up with having students for a year."

"I thought you were going to be a dental hygienist?"

"Right, but then I remembered people cry at the dentist and I don't like crying people," Celeste says, as if this is plainly obvious when you think about it. And, honestly, knowing Celeste it kind of is, but Amelia remains stuck on the idea that her friend is moving to China for a year. Like Starling City wasn't far enough already.

The waiter stops by, takes their orders, and it gives Amelia a moment to keep working through her thoughts. She'd been planning on being good, had been going to stick to an egg white omelet, some dry toast and a bit of fruit, but Maggie's thrown her off kilter so she says 'fuck it' and orders the eggs benedict instead.

"It's fine, Amelia," Celeste points out. "Just means I'll be more tired when we FaceTime because of the time difference. And… maybe you can come visit me? I can take you on a tour of the sights, absorb a bit more of the world than the inside of your office…"

"Yeah," Amelia laughs. "I'm gonna take a few weeks off of work to cross the world for fun."

"It's called a vacation, Amelia," Maggie points out. "I highly recommend them on occasion. Jer and I are talking about going in the spring. His mom's parents still live there and he wants to introduce me."

Truth be told, Amelia's a bit surprised to hear Maggie planning things that far out with her boyfriend. Yes, they've been together a while now and yes, they're fairly serious, but Maggie's never been the 'plan ahead' type. Not really. She's not as spontaneous as Celeste by any means, but Amelia's never known her to think that long term with a guy before.

"You and Thad could join us," Maggie adds.

"Can you see that?" Amelia asks with a laugh, soaking in the ridiculousness of that idea. She can picture it perfectly. "We'd be completely lost. I'd be calling my office every five minutes and he'll be in session by then anyhow."

"For my money, you both need to learn how to relax," Celeste notes, sipping her drink. "Thad's great, but you both work too much. You've gotta _live_ too, babe."

Amelia just sighs in reply because as much as she adores Celeste, they could not be two more opposite people if they tried. Her friend balances her, gives her a much needed fresh perspective at times, but she can't always relate to her perspective. Her job _is_ her life. And she loves making an impact. That's all she's ever wanted.

Or, at least, it's all she's ever admitted to herself she's wanted.

"Well, hello," Celeste says, leaning back in her chair and looking somewhere past Amelia's shoulder. "Been awhile since I've seen _him_. How is it that he's even more attractive, now? That's just unfair."

"He's always been hot," Maggie adds. "And a flirt. Why am I not surprised to see him at brunch with a girl?"

Amelia turns to follow their gaze and her heart promptly lodges itself in her throat because there - three tables over on the patio - is Will Queen looking as attractive as she's ever seen him. He's pulling out a chair for a brunette and a strange mix of irrational jealousy and attraction sweeps through Amelia at the sight. Lord, but he's wearing the hell out of those jeans. That's just unfair. But, then the girl that Will's with brushes her hair behind her ear and it pulls Amelia's attention to the other woman, leaving her blinking in surprise.

"That's one of his sisters. Jules," she tells Maggie and Celeste absently. Her gaze slips back to Will. Watching him is like a guilty pleasure, like picking eggs benedict when she should be having an egg white omelette. But she's so weak when it comes to him. She always has been. She hasn't seen him in a solid year at this point, but looking at him now, it feels like no time has passed at all, like she's right back on that dance floor in his arms.

It's such a dangerous thought. He has a way of challenging all her plans, all her assumptions about life, without even trying. Hell, he hasn't even _noticed_ her yet and already she can't think straight.

Somewhere in the background of her mind, it registers that Maggie's talking.

"Huh?" she asks, looking back at her friends who are both staring at her curiously with raised eyebrows.

"I asked if you knew his sister," Maggie clarifies, wry bemusement lacing her words. "But I think I have more questions now."

"I don't know her. Her, uh… her picture was on Moira's desk. And all of the family's pictures were in plenty of news clippings," Amelia answers, nervously licking her lips before reaching for her drink, half for fortification and half to keep herself from saying more.

Wow had that been true, though. She'd somehow avoided compiling press clippings at the start of her internship - that job had already been assigned - but the very next day after she'd reluctantly turned Will down the first time he'd asked her out, Moira had requested an analysis of recent media coverage on her family. Amelia's a bright girl and it hadn't taken more than a few minutes to figure out why she was given this assignment. An up-close view of his revolving-door love life via the paparazzi had made Moira's point more clearly than she could have had she spoken it.

And yet… and yet she can't help but think there's something more than the press has ever seen living in the space between them. In the many shots she's seen of him walking hand-in-hand with a girl or kissing her or with his arm wrapped around her waist, she's never once seen him looking at any of them the way he looks at her.

And that means something. She knows it does.

She can't help looking back in his direction, craving a glimpse of that look, of the delicious intensity that fills the air between them and feels like it sinks right into her skin, pulling at the core of her being. No sooner do her eyes find him again then he looks up and catches sight of her.

Everything stops.

Or, at least, it does for them.

She can't even breathe when his lips part in surprise, and his eyes go pained and soft as he drinks in the sight of her. It feels like a caress, like his gaze physically slips across her skin, and she shivers at the phantom sensation tracing across her face, her neck, her body. She feels it head to toe in a painfully intimate way, in spite of the fact that it's her face his eyes mostly linger on.

Not once does he look to her companions. Not once do his eyes dart to his sister. It's just her. It's just them. It always is when they're in a room together. Time and distance and life can't change that, apparently. There's something terrifying in recognizing that, but it's also so very addictive and she craves this connection in a way that defies reason.

The smile that pulls at his lips is subtle enough, gentle enough that it would be easy to miss if you weren't paying attention. But she is. She can't take her eyes off of it.

" _Hi_ ," he mouths at her.

" _Hi_ ," she mouths back.

It all hangs in the air, whispers of words unspoken filling the space between them. There's so very much they've left unsaid. It feels appropriate that this greeting, too, is no more than a mimicry of words.

"So... you know _him_ , though," Maggie declares loudly, snapping the thread of tension and pulling Amelia's gaze back to her friends.

"I… sort of," Amelia admits, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's complicated."

"Only because you made it complicated," Celeste sighs, taking a bite of her food.

Damn… when had their meals gotten here? Amelia blinks and looks down at her place setting to find a still-warm plate of eggs benedict.

"You want to tell me how that was _ever_ going to be uncomplicated?" Amelia dares her friend, taking a forkful of roasted potatoes.

"Oh! Happily," Celeste says, placing her forearms on the tablecloth and leaning in Amelia's direction. "When he asked you out the first time, you could have said yes. There. Uncomplicated."

"What the hell did I miss?" Maggie asks, leaning back in her chair. "Why didn't I know about this?"

"Because you were part of her excuse," Celeste informs her, gesturing expansively with her fork. "He kissed you like back in the Mesozoic era, so clearly it broke girl code for her to go out with him a few millennia later."

Maggie's astonishment makes it flatly clear how ridiculous she thinks this is. "Are you completely nuts?"

"No," Amelia protests petulantly, cutting her food a little too aggressively with the side of her fork.

"Sorry. I misspoke. That wasn't meant to be a question," Maggie elaborates. "What I meant is - you're crazy. And I have no desire to be your excuse, my love. So, date him or don't, but don't make me your reason."

"I'm with Thad now," Amelia points out. "I have been for more than two years. We _live_ together."

"You weren't then," Celeste reminds her. "And, Thad's a good guy, but…"

"But what?" Amelia challenges.

"Honey, we just want what's best for you. You know that," Celeste cautions, trading silent looks with Maggie, who huffs in clear frustration. "But you don't look at Thad like that," Celeste elaborates. "Don't you want that? Don't you want someone who sweeps you off your feet and just makes you _feel_?"

Amelia swallows hard, her eyes darting back to the other table. Will's sister is talking to him. He's listening - she's pretty sure of that - but he's still watching her. And so, for that matter, is Jules. Will's face is all longing and appreciation. Jules' is a far cry from that. And Amelia finds herself looking back to her own companions with reddened cheeks.

"No," she says. "No, I don't. What I want is something that makes sense. I want… I want a life with purpose and a partner that fits. I don't want to be so wrapped up in someone that who I am doesn't work without them. I don't want to lose myself in someone and feel like who am I has been cleaved in two when they're gone."

When she thinks about it later - or, more accurately, tries not to think about - she'll realize precisely how much she's given away in this moment.

"But… what if they don't leave?" Celeste points out. Her voice is hesitant, like she's treading very carefully. Her heart's in the right place and Amelia can respect that, but it doesn't make this conversation any easier.

"Someone always leaves," she replies bluntly. "Breakup or death, everything ends eventually."

"Sweetie…" Celeste says gently, putting a hand over hers. "You aren't your mom."

"You're right," Amelia agrees. "And, as much as I love her, I never want to be."

The light had gone out of her mom's eyes the instant her dad died. And it's never come back. She walks around like half a person, like someone forever lost. All her plans and dreams died with her husband and, as beautiful as Amelia remembers her parents being together, as sappy and wholly in love as they always seemed, she can't imagine it was worth it. Not now. Not when it seems like part of her mom died along with her dad.

And yet…

And yet she remembers with perfect clarity her parents dancing barefoot in the kitchen while her mom hummed a song she'd been working on. She remembers being six years old and watching from the doorway, completely unnoticed. She remembers thinking that's what love looked like, the way they were so absorbed in each other that the world around them didn't matter anymore.

Because they had each other.

In spite of herself, she still thinks it might be the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. But, she's not sure she's strong enough to have something like that and then lose it. Watching her mother struggle with her dad's death has been bad enough. Experiencing that firsthand is too terrifying a thing to contemplate.

"If you asked her… I'm pretty sure she'd still say it was all worth it," Celeste points out. Maggie is being conspicuously silent and Amelia can't help but wonder _why_. It's a rarity for her, to be sure.

But she has Celeste to defend herself against already and she isn't about to invite Maggie's opinion at the moment.

"Well, maybe my mom's just stronger than I am," Amelia suggests. "She survived _four_ miscarriages, her husband's sudden death, her father going missing in action when she was just a kid, her mother's alzheimer's…" She stops, shakes her head. "I can't imagine surviving half of that. And I don't want to have to."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Amelia," Celeste ventures hesitantly. "But just surviving life because I'm afraid of living it wouldn't be enough for me."

"That's not-" Amelia starts. Every inch of her wants to deny those words, in spite of the fact that they also ring with a kind of truth. But she's interrupted by a soft baritone voice that glides down her spine like the tip of a feather.

"Hey."

Will stands less than two feet away from her, hands in his pockets and an uncertain look on his face. Is he _nervous_? Just the idea of that sends a thrill through her. For all her insistence to the contrary, for all that her logical thoughts know she ought to stay far away from Will Queen, instinct drives her in the complete opposite direction. Right for him. She has to play with the edge of the tablecloth just to keep her hands to herself because he's _right there_.

"Will...hi," she replies after a moment when Celeste kicks her under the table. "Hi."

He reaches up with one hand, grabs at the back of his neck and looks at her sheepishly. "I don't want to intrude, but I had to come say hello."

"No, I'm glad you did." The words tumble out immediately, spoken too quickly and all in one exhale. "It's good to see you. You look… you look good."

" _Really_ good," Celeste adds with a wink and an 'okay' sign made with her hand. Maggie openly smacks her arm. Hard. "What, like he doesn't know? Come on. He owns a mirror," Celeste protests, glaring half-heartedly at Maggie and rubbing the spot she'd been hit.

Will's lips twitch into a half smile at that as he tries to hold back his amusement at her friends, but his attention only barely flits to Celeste. Amelia finds whenever they're together, his gaze never leaves her for long. It would be terrifying how much she loves that if she let herself think about it.

"How've you been?" he asks. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, winds up with them in his pockets again.

She wants to take them in hers instead. She wants to lace her fingers between his and soothe that obvious anxiety by stroking her thumbs against his. She wants it so badly that she has to flatten her hands against her thighs and force them to stay put.

"I'm good," she tells him. "Everything's really… good." God, has her entire vocabulary fallen out of her head? "You remember Celeste and Maggie?"

He blinks for a moment before looking to her table-mates. It's a bit of a respite for a moment because she feels like she can breathe again without the weight of his eyes pinning her down. But he also looks a little lost. And _how_ , exactly, is that so very appealing?

"Camping trip back in the Mesozoic era," Celeste clues him in, pointing her thumb at Maggie. "She's the one you made out with. I played wingman."

"Oh…" Will says uncertainly. "Right. Hi."

"You're adorable when you're worried, you know that?" Maggie snorts, shaking her head. "I've got nothing but fond memories of some really excellent kissing the better part of a decade ago. I never gave you my number, so I'm certainly not bummed that you never called. I'm not holding any kind of a torch. And I don't regret a lovely evening well-spent. So... stop holding your breath, Will. We can be buds. Pull up a chair and join us."

The relief on his face is palpable as he chuckles at himself, and something about seeing it makes Amelia smile. It's incredible how quickly he can pull emotion out of her, how _effortlessly_. He's not even trying, but just the sight of him makes her feel things. In the moment, she loves it. It's like downing that first sip of ice water when she hadn't even realized she was thirsty. But… God, she's so parched.

She must make some kind of noise, because he looks at her expectantly all of a sudden. But his eyes also drift down to her lips when she pulls her lower lip into her mouth and bites into it gently to cage in whatever other traitorous noises might choose to make themselves heard next. The way his brow tightens at the sight tells her quite clearly that she's done nothing at all to mitigate the building tension, though.

"I should, uh… I should let you ladies enjoy your brunch," he says after a moment. He looks like it's the very last thing he wants to say, though.

"Don't be ridiculous," Celeste scoffs, chugging a rather impressive amount of mimosa to polish off her glass. "Sit. Stay. Wait… that sounds like I'm talking to a dog. I didn't mean it that way. Just… take my seat. I need to go powder my nose anyhow and Maggie is going to come… watch me do that."

It's the most absurd thing Amelia's ever heard and she shoots a disbelieving look at her friends. Celeste just shrugs shamelessly as they stand.

"We'll be back in a few," Maggie says, giving Celeste a warning look that Amelia can't quite make sense of. "In the meantime… have a nice chat."

"Live a little," Celeste adds with a wink.

The worst part is that she's glad, that she wants them to step away for a few minutes, that she utterly craves the opportunity to just sit and talk with Will. She wishes she didn't, but she's weak when it comes to him, when it comes to how he makes her feel, _that_ he makes her feel.

So, she doesn't protest as her friends walk off. In fact, she sort of relishes it.

"Won't your sister miss you?" she asks, looking from Will to the table he'd been sharing with his sister just a few moments ago.

"She had a call she had to take," he replies. Sure enough, the dark haired girl is talking animatedly into her phone. Amelia has the distinct impression that she's keeping her brother in her peripheral vision, though. And she's not fool enough to think she's gone unnoticed. "I really didn't expect to see you here."

Surveilled by his sister or not, Amelia returns her focus to Will. "I was surprised to see you, too," she admits.

"Look, I'm… I was gonna head over to the bar. Get myself a coffee and my sister a bloody mary," he says, nodding his head toward the long bar along the far wall of the restaurant. "Would you join me?"

The now-empty pitcher of mimosas feels like a sign - mostly because she chooses to take it as one - and in spite of the fact that this feels like a test she's suddenly losing, she puts her fingers in his outstretched hand and lets him help her up. It takes a second for him to let go of her once she's standing and, when he does, his calloused fingers graze against the sensitive skin of her wrist, sending absolute lightning bolts of feeling ricocheting through her body.

Desire is nothing new to Amelia. But this is in a class all its own and she feels paradoxically powerless to it and powered by it. Just being near him makes her head swim and her heart pound and it sets her mind down the path of ' _What if? What if? What if?'_

She tells herself it's instinct, as they walk to the bar, for his hand to rest on the small of her back. She tells herself it's instinct that she leans into him some, that she savors it.

She's a liar.

The bar spans both the inside of the restaurant as well as the patio and they wind up out in the sun. That's better anyhow. The natural lighting flatters him immensely and she's well past any attempts to pretend not to notice how absurdly handsome he is.

"You're still in Central City?" he asks. There's a note of hesitation in his voice and she knows what he's not asking.

"Yes," she confirms. "I am."

He nods and places his order with the bartender before licking his lips and looking down to the bartop. She chimes in asking for another pitcher of mimosas and there's a long moment of silence after the server walks away before Will speaks up again. But he doesn't look at her when he talks this time.

"You're happy there?" he asks. "You're happy with… Central City? It's what you want?" Half of him doesn't want to hear her answer and it's obvious. Because any response she gives won't be a good one. Not for him. He wants her to be happy, but he doesn't want her in Central City. She knows the truth of that right down to her toes. Just a few minutes in his presence and she knows that he wants what he's always wanted. Her. Them. A chance.

"I'm successful," she replies. "There's a lot of opportunity there. It's good for me."

"That's not an answer," he tells her.

"It's not?" she asks.

"You know it's not," he counters.

Maybe he's right. Maybe it's not. But it's honest and it's enough for her. She's decided it has to be. But in moments like this, it doesn't feel as simple as that.

"I saw you, you know," she tells him. He watches her curiously, waiting for her to say more without pushing her. "On the news a few months ago, going through that window with all the smoke pouring out so you could save that baby."

Recognition dawns on his face. "The house with the Christmas lights," he says. "They stapled the strand to the roof and it went through the wire. I remember. They were lucky everyone survived."

She nods, but her focus isn't on that family. "I was standing in my kitchen making dinner and I just… I stopped because there you were rushing into a house with flames pouring out of it. And I was so… I was so…" The words escape her. They're all too much. She'd been too many things, felt too much all at once, and even recalling it now feels overwhelming.

"You were 'so' what?" he asks. His voice is a little lower, a little breathless.

"Terrified. Amazed. Regretful. Impressed. I don't know, Will," she shakes her head. "I don't even know."

"Tell me…" he stops and blows some air through his thinned lips. "Tell me about the regretful part."

"You _know_ about the regretful part," she replies.

"Tell me anyhow."

There's a desperate edge to his voice, a plea, and it's gutting because she feels that, too. She knows what he wants to hear. She knows what he dreads hearing. And she knows - in some ways - they're the exact same things.

"We shouldn't do this," she tells him in a near whisper. She tries not to hold his gaze, but she can't help it. He draws her in so fully, so consistently, and she feels powerless against his pull. "This is a bad idea."

"I don't care," he replies. It's earnest and so very raw. His beautiful eyes look at her like he just wants something, anything to hold on to. And she can give him that. The truth will absolutely offer him that. But it's all so temporary.

"This can't change anything, Will," she tells him. "I still belong in Central City. I'm still going back."

"I know," he admits. "But I still need to hear you say it. Please."

The look in his eyes is so serious, so exposed, and she wonders when she started to have this much effect on him. She wonders _how_. By all rights, neither of them should have so strong an impact on the other. They're scarcely more than acquaintances, after all. A connection like this defies logic and it throws Amelia for a loop. But then, everything about Will Queen always has. So, she thinks, maybe she just needs to stop trying to define him, define _this_ , fit him in some kind of a box, because what they feel for each other surely defies all attempts at categorization.

"All the 'what ifs,'" she tells him. Her voice is soft and her eyes unwavering from his. It feels like a confession, like a bid for absolution that she surely does not deserve. Because in spite of her regrets, she can't see herself changing a thing. Not before and definitely not now.

She must be silent for too long because he prompts her with a gentle "The 'what ifs?'"

"Yes," she breathes out, swallowing hard. "What if… what if I'd seen you before Maggie did? What if I'd gone with you to the fair?" The words are hard mostly because she can _see_ it. She can see herself as a college girl with her arms wrapped around his neck, laughing in the river at their campsite. She can see holding his hand on the ferris wheel. She can imagine it so clearly.

And that only makes everything heightened more when Will's pinky brushes against hers.

It's far from accidental. Neither of them look down at their hands resting on the bartop, but she can't hold back the soft moan or the way her eyes slip shut as his finger runs against the length of hers. It's nothing but a brush of fingers. It could be the most innocent thing in the world. But it's _not_. There's absolutely nothing innocent about it at all.

A shock of feeling races through her, leaves his touch resonating everywhere. It ripples across every nerve ending. And the way her finger twitches toward him, the way her pinky curves to the side, exposing the soft skin between her fingers to his touch is entirely instinct.

There is no hesitance on his part in running his finger against the newly exposed, softer skin of the inner side of her pinky. It's far and away the most sexual moment she can remember having in years and it's in public, at a well-lit brunch bar with her friends and his sister in full view.

But she can't care about the company nearby. Not right now. Not with her entire body tingling and her head spinning. Not with his breathing heavy and his pupils damned near eclipsing the blue of his eyes as he stares her.

She could get swept away in this if she let herself. It's incredibly tempting. This feeling - _Will_ \- is so addictive and she finds she's already craving more of this, of him, of them. She's going to have to stop, going to have to go cold turkey very soon.

But not yet.

"What if I'd kissed you at the gala?" she continues. Her voice is so quiet that she might have wondered if he'd even heard her at all had his finger not stiffened and curled around hers. It's enough to make her press on. "What if I'd stayed and given us a shot? What if I were braver? What if I'd listened to my instincts?"

There's the slightest bit of pressure against her fingers, an urging to turn her hand over, and she gives into it easy despite her better judgement.

"And what did your instincts say?" he asks. His fingers slide up to her wrist as he talks and he traces soft, lazy circles against her pulsepoint. The shock of feeling sets her cheeks aflame, makes her feel _alive,_ and she suddenly can't get enough oxygen.

"Oh, _God_ , Will," she lets out in a hushed rush of breath. It feels painfully scandalous. She bites into the flesh of her lower lip and lets a curtain of her hair hide her face. If she'd thought about it, she probably would have known he couldn't let that stand. It seems like he can't bear to stop looking at her whenever she's near and soon enough the fingers of his free hand are tucking her hair behind her ear again.

"If they're saying ' _Oh, God, Will_ ,' I think I like your instincts," he tells her. He tries to make it sound amused, but that sort of falls flat because he's clearly, obviously, every bit as turned on right now as she is and his voice is far too gritty to be flippant.

"My instincts don't matter," she tells him. But in great contrast to her words, she can't make herself pull her hand away and she finds her own thumb stroking along the vein of his inner wrist without even thinking about it. He sucks in a wild breath and lets out a truncated whimper, his whole frame curving toward her like he's seeking out more of her presence.

"I think they do," he tells her. "I think they matter most. I think instinct tells you what to fight for."

She recognizes that for the plea that it is. "I can't, Will. _We_ can't. You know that."

"What I know is that I can't imagine going without seeing you for another year," Will replies levelly. "I know that just a glimpse of you makes my day brighter and I've never met anyone that I want to learn everything about before. Not like this. Not like you. I know I've had enough of 'what if.' Haven't you?"

The worst of it is, she _has_. She can't imagine another night in her kitchen watching him on the news as he risks his life for a stranger, knowing she doesn't even have the right to call him up afterward and ask him how he is. She can't begin to fathom the sense of loss that she _knows_ would hit her if something happened to him. But that still isn't enough to derail her entire life.

"I'm with someone, Will," she reminds him - and herself - pulling her fingers back and blinking hard, trying to force logic back into her own mind. "I'm not a cheat."

"If you think this isn't already cheating, you're fooling yourself," he replies quietly. He looks a little ashamed as he says it and it echoes strongly with the feeling roiling in her gut. "It might not be an affair, but we both know your heart isn't entirely with him and that's the more important part."

She pulls her hand away entirely at that and rubs at her brow because he's _right_. He's right and that's not fair to any of them.

"He deserves better than this," Amelia sighs. It's thready and uneven. "So do you."

"Do you want to know what I think?" Will ventures. He's pulled back a bit, torn himself from her physical space, but it seems like it takes effort for him to force a respectable distance between them.

"I don't already?" she laughs. It's not a pretty chuckle by any means. It's twisted, a little bitter and a little self-effacing.

"No, Amelia," he tells her. His voice is longing but distant, as is his gaze. "I'm pretty sure you don't."

"Okay then," she agrees. "What is it you think, Will?"

"I think you're right," he tells her. "I think he does deserve better than this. And so do I. But I think you deserve better, too." She finds herself frozen in place, watching him, waiting for him to continue. "I think your head wants one extreme and your heart wants the other and you haven't figured out how to have a bit of both, yet. I think you deserve to be successful _and_ happy - blissfully, absurdly happy. But you've told yourself you have to have one or the other and that's just not true."

"That's not it," she says after a moment. Her fingernail digs at a groove in the bartop and she, for once, cannot bear to look at him at all.

"It's not?" he asks.

"No," she counters. "I know it's not a trade off. I enjoy my work and I don't need him to be successful in my own right."

"Then, what-"

"It's easier," she blurts out, interrupting him and daring to look up at him again. "What he and I have is… solid and supportive. It's good. It is. But I'd survive if I lost him. I'd be okay. I'd still be _me_."

"You're settling because you're afraid of being hurt," Will realizes aloud.

"It's not _settling_ ," Amelia replies in a huff. "It's choosing what's best for me."

"Does he know that?" Will challenges, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I've been with him two years, Will," Amelia reminds him. "I'm pretty sure he's well aware of what our relationship is and is not by now. What's so wrong with picking something simple? With choosing not to risk everything?"

"Without risk there's no reward, Amelia," Will tells her. It sounds a little pitying and she knows both his words and his tone are going to stick with her a long time. "The _point_ is the risk. The point is loving someone so much that it would forever change you if you lost them. Don't you want that?"

"No!" she replies sharply, wrapping her arms around herself. "No, I don't."

"I don't believe you," he says softly. "I think you want it more than anything or you wouldn't be here with me right now. But I think you're scared of it all the same. I think you've been hurt badly and you don't want to go through it again."

That's not _quite_ true, but it still hits a bit close to home and it's enough to steel her resolve and stiffen her backbone. "I need to get back to the girls," she announces. She doesn't look at him as she says it, instead noticing that the pitcher of mimosas she'd ordered is next to her. How long has that been there? It seems like she loses track of the world around her whenever he's near.

"Okay," he agrees immediately. That throws her. She'd expected a fight. Her surprise must show, judging by the look on his face. "I want to see you again. All the time. I want to… I want to take risks with you, Amelia, to have something that I'm terrified of losing. But I don't get to make that choice for both of us. I know that. And anything I could say is pointless if you don't want to take that risk, too."

"I _can't_ ," she replies, her voice broken and wet. It's a lot to expect him to accept, to even understand, but he smiles sadly at her like he gets it. It's far more than she deserves and she knows it.

"I know," he says. She doubts that's true, but she's pretty sure he knows she believes it. And that's enough. It has to be. He slips off the barstool and hesitates just a moment before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. It's more innocent than the way their fingers had danced together earlier, but it still leaves her rattled and trying to hold on to the memory of his scent and the feel of his lips on her skin. "Take care of yourself, Amelia. Call me next time you're in town."

"Is that a good idea?" she asks as he pulls away. There's barely a respectable space between them and he smiles sadly as his gaze caresses the details of her face, committing them to memory.

"Probably not," he admits. "But I'd love to hear from you anyhow."

"Maybe," she agrees noncommittally. Despite herself, she can picture doing that. She can see calling him up and meeting for coffee. But she also can't see it ending there. Just the idea of that, just the possibility of something more with him, something real, sets her heart fluttering and sends a thrill rushing through her veins.

And, despite herself, she thinks maybe… maybe that's something she's underrated.

If the very idea of him is enough to make her head spin, what would it be like to really kiss him, to make love to him, to laugh together curled up on the sofa, to wake up tangled in his arms. It's not that she wants these things that surprises her, it's the force she wants them with. There's so much there to explore between them and leaving it all uncharted just makes her feel… empty. She feels empty all of a sudden. And there's something profoundly sad about that.

"Will," she says, making a wild grab for his arm as he moves away. He looks back at her and she knows she's got a big piece of his heart in her hands. She doesn't know how to keep it safe while she protects her own, but she's going to try. "I'll think about it," she promises. "About everything you said and about next time I'm in town. I just… I need to think."

She expects him to say that she's already thinking too much, that she needs to learn to just feel instead, but he doesn't. In fact, he doesn't say a word, instead bringing their joined hands up to kiss her fingers before letting her go and heading back to the table his sister still occupies. Someone else has joined her there - her boyfriend of the last year or so, if Amelia remembers news reports correctly - but her attention is quickly diverted by her own table where Celeste and Maggie sit staring at her with twin astounded expressions on their faces.

Great. So… that's gonna be fun.

It takes a moment before she feels steady enough to carry that pitcher of mimosas back to the table so she just sits there staring at the finger his pinky had been running up and down minutes ago. She can still feel it, like a phantom sensation she's not sure will ever leave her. She's not sure she wants it to.

He's so… He makes her feel so much. She's spent a very long time telling herself that she doesn't want that, that it's too dangerous and foolhardy. So, why does that all feel like a lie right now?

When her hands stop shaking and she feels even enough to walk without spilling spiked orange juice everywhere, she gets up, grabs the pitcher and turns back toward her friends.

But the first thing she notices is that Will is nowhere to be found.

The second is that his sister is glaring daggers at her.

Amelia doesn't know Julianna Queen, but she's long had the impression that the other woman is not someone you want to piss off. She offers up a thin, disaffected smile before choosing to ignore the Queen girl, because that is really the best plan she can come up with at the moment. Besides… Celeste and Maggie are waiting for her.

"So…" Celeste says as Amelia reaches them and sets down their drinks. "I'm pretty sure you're both gonna owe me child support."

"What?" Amelia asks, wholly perplexed.

"I totally got pregnant just from watching the two of you together," Celeste announces, filling her glass.

"Celeste…" Amelia groans, rolling her eyes as she sits down with her friends.

"She's actually not wrong," Maggie chimes in, though she sounds a whole lot less charmed than Celeste does.

"Do you have _any_ idea how many people search their whole lives for a connection like that?" Celeste challenges, shaking her head in disbelief. "And you're gonna just throw it away without even giving it a chance?"

"And you?" Amelia asks, looking at Maggie. "Are you 'Team Will,' too?"

"Hell no," Maggie scoffs. "I'm 'Team Amelia,' now and always. But I do think you're being incredibly unfair to your boyfriend of several years if you're making heart-eyes and playing footsie with another man at the bar."

 _Ouch_.

"I wasn't," Amelia counters, feeling her cheeks heat up at the denial. But even she doesn't quite believe her words. There may have been no feet involved… but it's not like Maggie's all that far off. Her wrist still tingles.

"Honey, I love you and I want the very best for you always," Maggie confides in her. "But is that really Will Queen? Anyone with eyes can see the chemistry and I get how attractive that can be - believe me - but that's far from all you need in a relationship. You and Thad live together. You're serious and you've been building your lives together for quite a while. Now, either that's what you want or it's not, but you need to figure it out because pining for one guy when you live with another is asking for trouble."

Amelia isn't sure quite what to say to that. Maggie surely has a point, but Celeste sort of saves the moment by jumping in with a question. "Do you love him?"

"I barely know him," Amelia protests.

It takes a moment for her to register that she'd automatically assumed Celeste meant Will instead of Thad. And, wow, the implications of that alone…

"Your soul does, though," Celeste replies weightily. It's cheesy as hell, but she also fully means it because that's just who Celeste is. "You feel it. You can't tell me otherwise because I have eyes and I know better."

"But Thad-"

"Thad's a great guy," Maggie cuts her off. "And he loves you. I like him. He's good for you, but it doesn't really matter what I think. What matters is what _you_ think. And, if you're using him as a shield to keep yourself from having to feel more than absolutely necessary, that's shortchanging yourself and completely unfair to him."

"I think you are," Celeste chimes in before Amelia has a chance to reply. "And, you know what? Now that I've seen you with Will, I think you always have."

"Excuse me?" Amelia asks, blinking in surprise.

"When did you start dating Thad, honey?" Maggie questions. "And why, exactly?"

"Two… two years ago last March," Amelia replies uneasily. "And… I don't know, because he asked me?"

"Will asked you, too," Celeste points out, taking a healthy swig of her drink. "In fact, if I remember right, he'd asked you more than once."

"What's your point?" Amelia asks.

"We think you said yes to Thad because you were running out of reasons to say no to Will," Maggie informs her.

"That's not fair," Amelia says, defending herself.

"To Thad? I agree. It's totally unfair," Maggie counters. "But I care about that a whole lot less than I do that it's unfair to _you_."

From anyone else in the world, this conversation would probably have made Amelia defensive, turned into a tremendous fight. But this is Celeste and Maggie and there is nothing and no one that Amelia will ever let come between her and her girls. Even when it's hard to hear, they have her best interests at heart and she knows it.

"Look, sweetie, we're going to support you no matter what you do," Maggie tells her.

"But we've seen you with Thad and we've seen you with Will. And the difference is… It's night and day, Amelia," Celeste adds. "It's like you come alive around Will, like he wakes up a part of your soul that's asleep otherwise. And, okay, maybe it's not him you wind up with. Maybe it would all go up in flames and you'd get a little burned in the process. But do you really want to know you can feel like that and then go back to Thad and your over-organized routine?"

" _Celeste_ ," Maggie says warningly. She and Celeste aren't exactly on the same page, here. For all that Amelia knows they'll both be happy for her as long as she's living the life she wants, Celeste is very obviously pushing her toward Will while Maggie would sooner watch her take the more sensible route.

Amelia doesn't immediately have the words to answer Celeste's question, so the blonde pipes up again and what she says throws Amelia more for a loop than anything else that's been said.

"What would your dad have wanted for you?"

The words hit her like a physical blow, something that's counteracted by Maggie grabbing her hand in comfort and squeezing her fingers as she hisses something lowly toward Celeste.

What would her dad have wanted for her? Everything. Her dad would have wanted everything. He'd been a simple man, an accountant whose entire life had revolved around his wife and daughter. He would have done anything for her happiness and she knows it. If he were alive today, he'd get along fine with Thad, but she can't see them relating over much. With Will… with Will it's different. She can see her dad laughing with him - Amos Prescott had always enjoyed a good sense of humor - and she can see Will earning his respect for how much importance he places on his family. But, more than that, she can easily see her dad's eyes smiling at the way she so easily gets lost in Will's presence, at how the whole world dims and fades away when they're together.

He'd relate, she thinks. He'd want that for her.

"I need to… I need to think," Amelia says breathlessly, echoing her words to Will. "I just need…"

"Holy shit, did I get through to you?" Celeste asks, blinking in surprise.

"Apparently, I owe you twenty bucks," Maggie tells the other girl dryly. Amelia barely hears the words, though, because her head is spinning. For the first time, the idea of being with Will, really being with him, is something that sounds like it makes sense, like it could _work_. If her friends support that, if Will wants it, too… doesn't that make it sound more realistic? Doesn't that make it feel more _right_?

"What am I doing?" Amelia asks. The painful thing - the _most_ painful thing, anyhow - is that she's actually looking to her friends for an answer. Because she doesn't know. In this moment, it feels as though everything's been thrown into question and she genuinely doesn't have any clue which way is up. That's terrifying, but it's also oddly freeing even if it leaves her feeling like she needs to find solid ground to land on.

"It's okay that you don't know," Maggie advises. "You know that, right? In fact, it's better that you don't rush into anything. You've always been so put together, Amelia. And we love that about you. You're ambitious and you're a planner. It's part of what makes you _you_. But, you're human, too. You're allowed to question things. And sometimes plans need adjusting."

"Does mine?" Amelia asks. The idea of that is startling and even the thought that she'd be entertaining this notion today would have stunned her this morning. But Will has a way of throwing everything into flux.

"We don't get to decide that for you, hon," Maggie says with a wry twist of her lips and a one-shouldered shrug. "But for my money… you've got two different decisions here. It's not about choosing between Thad and Will, even though it might seem like that. The first thing you need to decide is if this life with Thad is what you want. Don't even make Will a part of that equation. If what you've got is what you want then… that's the end of it. If it's not, then you've got another decision to make about Will. But don't make this some kind of choice between two men. It's about _you_ , not them. And that's why Celeste and I are happy to give our full-throated support no matter what you decide to do. I told you before we weren't Team Will or Team Thad. We're both Team Amelia. I meant that."

"Team _Happy_ Amelia," Celeste chimes in, nodding. "Like, Team Super-Blindingly-Happy Amelia… who is blissful with her soulmate, who throws her plans out the window for once in her life." So, there's no doubt what Celeste like to see Amelia do. And Amelia's not surprised in the least to see Maggie cast their friend an incredulous look. After all, she'd just so carefully toed the line, trying to make them both seem neutral. "What? It's not like I'm wrong," Celeste scoffs, popping a strawberry in her mouth as Maggie shakes her head.

" _Anyhow_ … you were right about one thing," Maggie decides, looking back to Amelia. "You need to think. But the good part of all this is, there isn't a rush. Take your time. Take a breath. Mull it over and figure out what it is you really want. It's not like Will's going anywhere. He's waited this long."

That's probably true, but it also sends a fresh rush of guilt washing over Amelia. Because she knows… she knows that for as much as she's always told him 'no,' she's just as clearly expressed 'maybe.' For most men, that wouldn't be enough. Not for interest to last this long, at any rate. Will's different, though. Or maybe it's just that they're different together. After all, it's not like she's any less drawn to him after all these years.

"You okay?" Maggie asks. It's only then that Amelia realizes it's been a few moments since any of them spoke.

"Yeah…" she replies. It doesn't sound very convincing, even to her. "I'm just… lost in thought, that's all. Sorry."

And, oh is that true. Her mind is racing a mile a minute and it all plays out like a movie in her imagination. In her head, she can see showing up at Will's apartment. He'd be so surprised to see her that he'd just freeze when he opened the door, that same look on his face as he'd worn when he'd first spotted her earlier today. He'd be barefoot, comfortable in his own space, and he'd step back, holding open the door for her and waiting for her to speak.

" _I thought about it_ ," she'd say after the door shut. Her hands would shake, as would her voice. " _I don't want to go another year without seeing you again, either."_

He'd need more than that. There've been so many 'maybes' between them that he'd need to hear more. She'd step closer to him, slipping her hand into his as he watched her with tentative longing.

" _You were right. Some risks are worth it,_ " she'd tell him. " _I think this might be one of them."_

He'd kiss her then. It'd start soft, disbelieving that this is all real, all hot breath and soft lips. But it would escalate quickly. She knows it would. They can scarcely keep their hands to themselves now, but if she showed up at his home, if she said those words to him… Frankly, she can't imagine they'd even make it to a bed. She'd be so swept away by him so very easily. Her damned _hand_ still tingles from where he'd stroked her wrist and finger earlier. The notion of how every inch of her body would resonate with his touch is heady, makes her flush and swallow hard at the very idea. He'd make love to her so thoroughly, so passionately, that it would further solidify that crazy connection between them. But, truth be told, she's fairly certain she'd be lost in this thing between them from the moment his lips touched hers. He'd pull her under like a riptide and she's not sure she'd ever surface.

But, for the first time… she thinks that sounds like something equal parts dangerous and appealing.

"Earth to Amelia!"

"Huh?"

The image in her head fades slowly and she knows it's very, very obvious where her mind was from the twin looks on Maggie and Celeste's faces.

"It's late, hon," Maggie says. "We've been here a bit and I need to meet Jer soon. Are you gonna be okay? Do you want me to cancel with him? We can go veg out in your hotel room and hash through this if you want."

"No," Amelia counters immediately. "Thank you, but no. I think I'm going to just take a walk and clear my head. I've got a meeting scheduled in a bit, too." Neither of the girls look all that convinced. "Really, I'm fine. I'm good, actually. I wish we had more time together, though. Brunch a couple times a year isn't enough."

"Jer and I will be up in Central City this fall," Maggie tells her.

"And I'm not going to head to China without seeing you again," Celeste informs her. "Can I bum your sofa for a few days this August?"

"Of course," Amelia tells her, a grin spreading across her lips. "You always have a place with me and that would be fantastic. I'd love to see you."

Whatever else in her life might be in flux, she will always welcome the chance to spend more time with her girls. She'd known she had missed them, but she hadn't quite realized how badly until she'd actually seen them.

"For real, where the hell is our server?" Maggie asks, looking around the room and shaking her head. "I'm not exactly in a rush yet, but it would be good to _pay_ anyhow."

Celeste lets out a shrill whistle a moment later and waves wildly toward a man that Amelia only vaguely recognizes from earlier. Honestly, she's been so distracted that she couldn't have pulled their server out of a lineup. The man heads over with a clearly fake smile.

"Are you ladies ready for your next round, then?" he asks once he gets there.

"Uh, no," Maggie corrects. "Just the check, please."

"Your bill is already covered," the server tells her. "As is anything else you ladies would care to order. I've been told to instruct you that the Dom Perignon would be better _without_ orange juice, but would be an excellent choice."

"Excuse me?" Celeste blinks, her eyes darting toward the host at the door who she's been seeing. "Who, uh… who covered it, exactly?" She's visibly nervous and it makes Amelia wonder if maybe she's a little less certain of the casual nature of her relationship than she'd let on. But she's also wrong. There's no doubt in Amelia's mind about that.

"It was Will," Amelia murmurs. She doesn't even need that confirmed.

"Mr. Queen left you a note as well," the server says, flipping through the book of checks for his tables until he reaches a loose slip of paper and hands it over. "I presume you're Amelia?"

"Yes," she confirms quietly, taking the small piece of paper and unfolding it, half excited and half nervous to see what message he's left. Ultimately, it's short, sweet and painfully appropriate.

 _To no more 'what ifs.' Take all the time you need._

She lets out a shuddering breath and her eyes slam shut as her free hand rubs at the furrows of her brow.

"Thank you," she manages, effectively dismissing the server.

"What's it say?" Celeste asks eagerly. Amelia's eyes snap back open at the question and she suddenly finds herself very protective of the message.

"Nothing," she replies quickly, folding the paper carefully and tucking it behind her license in her wallet. "It's… it's nothing. I'm sorry, guys. I need to get some air. I need… I need some air." She's nodding at her own words and if it seems a little desperate, a little manic, that's probably not too far off the mark. "Love you both. I'll call you tonight? I just… I need air."

Kindly, neither of them point out that they're in a restaurant with one wall slid open to blend the indoors with the outdoors. There's plenty of fresh air. They both stand, each of them hugging her goodbye before Amelia hastily makes her way out the front door, her head spinning and her heart pulled in so many directions it feels like it might just split apart at the seams.

Starling City's weather is gorgeous, and she takes a big gulp of crisp June air the moment she's out the front door. It's cleansing somehow, and the bright sunshine makes for a fabulous excuse to don her sunglasses and take her time lingering outside.

In spite of the fact that she's not originally from Starling, that she'd only moved here for a job after college - for _the_ job after college - when she sucks in a deep breath of air it smells like home. It doesn't make sense, but there it is anyhow. Central City has been good to her… very good. Her job, her boyfriend, her _life_ is exactly what she'd told herself she wanted.

But, even before Will threw all of that into question, a part of her was here. Part of her wants to be at this restaurant every weekend with Celeste and Maggie. Part of her wants a tiny, one-bedroom flat to herself in the trendier part of the arts district. Part of her wants… well, part of her wants something else entire. Another city, another life.

It's childish.

That's what she decided years ago.

Life is short - life can be _so_ short - and if you sit idly by then all your goals for it will slip right through your fingers. She's making a difference in Central City. Her work is invaluable. She has a real impact on policy, on people's lives. She doesn't have time to entertain 'what ifs,' to linger on silly yearnings that can't go anywhere.

Unless… unless she does. Unless that's more important than she's ever given it credit for.

"What the hell makes you so special?"

Amelia jumps at the voice, turning to find one very familiar, skeptical, dark-haired girl leaning against the outside of the restaurant, scrutinizing her like she's been put under a microscope and the dark-haired girl can't quite figure out what she's seeing.

"Excuse me?" Amelia asks. Her voice is uneasy and defensive. She's not prepared for this conversation in any way.

But then, she thinks Julianna Queen might relish it all the more for that.

The younger girl pushes off the wall and saunters forward, all lithe grace and confidence that Amelia absolutely does not feel in this moment. She'd look dainty if not for the black leather biker jacket and combat boots and her matching unaffected expression. But Amelia suspects that's an act, an affect put on for the sake of her image.

She'd know. She does the same professionally on a regular basis.

" _You_ ," Jules says again, folding one arm in front of herself and resting the elbow of her other on her hand as she worries her fingers together like she's trying to physically sort things out. Amelia's seen the girl's father do much the same thing while working. "What is it about you that has my brother tied up in knots?"

Thank god for sunglasses, but Amelia can't credit the mimosas for the sudden color in her cheeks.

"Maybe you should ask him that," she replies. It's clipped, uneasy, and Amelia can feel her spine stiffening at the sense of an impending conflict. But, then, she's extremely sensitive about all things related to Will Queen right now.

"I think he's put up with enough shit without me quizzing him about why he's still mooning after you like an eon after one dance," Jules scoffs.

"A year," Amelia responds without even thinking about it. She could kick herself when she realizes what she's said. She suspects that Julianna Queen is not the sort of person you expose your vulnerabilities to, but it's too late now. "It's been a year since we danced, not an eon," she clarifies.

Jules cocks her head to the side and looks Amelia up and down like she's trying to figure out if she's something she needs to scrape off the bottom of her boot or not.

"A year," she allows a moment later. "Have you even seen him since then?"

Amelia swallows hard and looks out to the street. Cars hurry by like ants, unaware and going about their business, life on a mission. There's no one on their side of the street, but there are plenty of people going in and out of the mom-and-pop coffee shop across the way. It's the stuff of daily life, the ins and outs of a city's lifeblood. It's routine, the sort of thing she thrives on, usually. But her moment right now is not.

"No," she answers. She doesn't have to, she knows that, but for all her familiarity with the Queen men, she knows very little of the Queen women besides Moira.

"And a _year_ later he still looks at you like you're the only person in the room," Jules points out. There's no missing the annoyance in her voice and Amelia can't deny the truth behind her words. She's not even sure she wants to. "And you sit there looking right back at him exactly the same way. Seems to me like the two of you are _still_ dancing."

God, there's a thought. Amelia's head swims at that memory - or maybe the mimosas - and the breath she lets out is a shuddering exhale before looking back to meet Jules' gaze.

"Your brother is a fantastic guy," she allows. It might be the biggest understatement she's ever made.

"But, what? Not good enough for you?" Jules challenges.

"What?" Amelia asks. It comes out on a disbelieving laugh. "What are you even talking ab-"

" _You_ ," Jules announces angrily. "You with your high-powered job and important life. Just because he's a firefighter instead of a doctor or a _senator_ or something. Just because he's a bastard. You think you're so high and mighty. So much better than-"

"He doesn't think that, does he?" Amelia cuts off. She doesn't give a damn what accusations are being thrown at her, doesn't care in the least what Jules Queen thinks about her. She doesn't owe her any explanations. But, God, if that's what Will thinks. If that's what he believes, what he _has_ believed for years, she's not sure how she'll forgive herself.

But Jules doesn't answer directly. Not right away.

"My brother is better than _all_ of us. He's the best man I've ever met."

"I know that," Amelia blurts out. It's painfully, gut-wrenchingly honest. But, God, she does know that. She's seen it. His devotion to his family, to his job. His commitment as a brother, as a son. She's seen it. She's heard about it for years. Little Nate had rambled on about him all summer as he'd poured coffee around city hall years ago. Aside from his… varied romantic history splashing across the tabloids, she'd also seen much of his dedication to his siblings, his coworkers, his _city_ written out in black and white, played out on television - complete with him in uniform, covered in soot and carrying an infant out of a burning building.

If you want to talk about good men… Will Queen is _prime,_ always has been.

"I'm not… I know I'm not better than him," Amelia continues, licking her lips. "I've never thought that. Not once."

"Then what the hell are you doing?" Jules asks. "Why the hell are you still dancing?"

She can remember actually dancing with him, can still smell the hint of his cologne, feel the heat of his palm against her back, remember the rush of his breath as he exhaled her name out against her cheek. She dreams about it sometimes. Waking up is always brutal those nights and her boyfriend's warm embrace is far from what she wants in the quiet, honest cover of night.

"I'm not," Amelia protests. "Not anymore. Dancing is wonderful. It's fun and it's… it's a fantastic escape, but it's not life."

Maybe. _Maybe_ it's not life. But maybe she wants it to be. God, she is so ill-equipped for this conversation right now.

"Funny," Jules says, folding her arms in front of her. "It's my career, actually."

Amelia thinks she'd known that, but she's not certain and she nods her head allowing the other girl's point. "It's not _my_ life," she clarifies.

"Because your life is all big important things without any art in them? Without any joy or expression?" Jules snorts.

"I get a lot of joy out of my work," Amelia bristles.

"No," Jules sighs. It's a pitying noise. "I don't think you do. I think you get satisfaction and it's been so long since you've had joy instead that you've forgotten the difference."

"You don't know me," Amelia tells her angrily - correctly - even if it feels like she does.

"Sure I do," Jules scoffs. "I know you very well. You're… pedestrian. You're a person who hits the same coffee shop at the same time every day and hurries to be at their desk an hour early. You leave late and take papers home to work on at night. You probably haven't taken a vacation since you started your job. You screw your boyfriend like clockwork twice a week just because it's been a few days and you feel like you're supposed to-"

" _Excuse_ me"

"-You aren't exceptional, Amelia. You're ordinary. And worse, you like it that way. You're nowhere near good enough for my brother, so _quit dancing_ with him. He deserves better."

Jules turns to leave at that, content to have the last word. Amelia will never know what it is that makes her speak up - maybe everything is just too raw to let it end this way - but she knows she can't allow Jules' words to stand unchallenged.

"You're jealous," she announces. It's too loud, too sharp, and the incredulous look on Jules' face when she turns around feels very, very dangerous.

"You want to say that again?" she asks slowly.

"You are," Amelia tells her, doubling down and pushing her sunglasses atop her head. "You're so used to being the most important person in his world and you know I'm a threat to that. Because he _does_ look at me and it's like nothing exists but us for an instant, not even you. Because you see us together and you _know_ it could be so much more than just this, you know it could last. That it could be something real."

Jules shakes her head, eyes wide and disbelieving as she runs her tongue along her teeth and takes a step closer until their toe-to-toe.

"Oh yeah?" she questions, looking up at Amelia.

" _Yes_ ," Amelia replies firmly.

"Fine," Jules acknowledges, raising an eyebrow. "Then _prove it_."

This time, when she turns to head back into the restaurant, Amelia lets her have the last word. She's not sure what she could possibly say to that anyhow, but the words ring in her ears.

 _Prove it_.

They echo through her brain with every footstep she takes down the sidewalk. Over and over.

 _Prove it._

 _Prove it._

 _Prove it._

The cool air isn't really cutting it anymore. It feels stale, stifling and the need to escape hits her full on. Without even thinking about it, she waves down a nearby cab - ignoring that an Uber or a Lyft would absolutely be cheaper, she can't care about that right now - and climbs in quickly, asking the driver to turn up the air conditioning, please. He looks at her like she's crazy, but does it anyhow.

"Where to?" he asks.

She rattles off the address from memory and the cabbie does another double-take, but doesn't ask any more questions before pulling out into traffic and heading down the road.

Will's note practically burns a hole in her purse. She's so very aware that it's there and his sister's words still rattle around her brain like a dare she wants to take. She ignores both, though, and grabs for her phone instead. What she needs right now is a distraction. She needs… she doesn't know what she needs.

She needs something to keep her from pulling up Will's address and giving that to the cabbie instead, that's what she needs.

As she expected, she's got a slew of emails from work. None of them are of immediate importance, which is good because her mind could not possibly deal with an actual crisis at the moment. There's one from her mom, too, though. And that's the one that pulls her attention.

It's just her regular, rambling novella about her week. There's a moment where Amelia considers calling her, where she thinks maybe her mom is exactly what she needs right now. But she makes herself put her phone back and pushes down that impulse, because she knows exactly what her mom would say.

" _Your heart has wings, baby girl. You need to let it fly_." She can practically hear it. " _Life's too damned short to keep both feet on the ground. The sky's the limit and you, of all people, deserve to soar_."

But then her mom is prone to following every impulse she's ever had. She's been a risk-taker her whole life and it's both rewarded and cost her time and time again. Having been there for so much of the cost, Amelia's never understood how she can keep taking all those risks.

No, she knows what her mom's take on things would be. What she needs right now is the exact opposite voice. She needs balance and perspective if she's going to make an informed decision that sticks.

Even if it means her next meeting happens just a bit earlier than had been planned.

"We're here, lady," the cabbie announces, jolting Amelia from her thoughts. "Can't say as I ever saw Queen Manor before. Really is sorta a castle, ain't it?"

Her gaze snaps to the window to find they have, indeed, pulled up to Queen Manor. It's been awhile since she's been here, since Moira was mayor, but it looks very much the same. It's _probably_ looked the same, more or less, since it was built. It's enormous, stately and - yes - very castle-like.

"It's appropriate," she answers crisply, handing the man considerably more money than the meter reads. "Thanks for your time."

He's a whole lot happier with the sizable tip and gets out of the cab to open the door for her. She thanks him absently and barely pays attention as he gets back in the cab and pulls away. She's too busy staring up at the manor and all that it represents.

"Amelia? Darling, you're early."

Moira's voice jolts her and Amelia turns to find her former mentor strolling through the gardens, her arm looped through her husband's.

"I know. I'm so sorry," Amelia apologizes, taking a few steps in the couple's direction to kiss both Moira and Walter on the cheek. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

"Not at all," Moira counters, waving off her concern. "I'm surprised, not unhappy. It's good to see you. You look well."

"You too," Amelia sighs, offering up a smile. Just being in the former mayor's presence settles something in her, leaves her feeling more steady on her feet. "And you, Walter."

"How is Central City these days?" Walter inquires politely. "I hear good things about your work there. It seems as though you've settled right in."

"I… work is good," she allows. That question would have been a whole lot easier to answer before running into Will and there's no doubt that Moira's picked up on her hesitation. The older woman's face tightens with a forced smile that Amelia long ago learned to read. Walter's countenance is a bit harder for her to interpret, but she suspects she's not fooling him much, either.

"Excellent," he declares. "I'll let you ladies catch up, then. Shall I have tea brought to your study in a bit?"

"Mmm, yes please. Oolong would be delightful," Moira agrees, smiling up at her husband as he gives a curt nod and heads off toward the house. He's barely out of sight before Moira refocuses back on Amelia, her face suddenly gravely serious. "What is it that you need help with?"

It's been awhile since she's been around Moira and, while all politicians seem to be fairly good at reading people, no one she's met holds a candle to Moira Queen.

"I'm that obvious?" Amelia asks with a broken laugh. It's a bid for time as she searches for words, as much as it's anything else.

"You need to brush up on your poker face, Amelia," Moira tells her bluntly. "I trained you far better than this. Now… who do you need me to call and pull strings with? Is it the housing initiative?"

Oh, Amelia really wishes it were that simple.

"No… nothing like that," Amelia allows as the two of them head slowly toward the house. "It's not work."

"Not work?" Moira asks sharply. There's an alertness to her eyes that tells Amelia she'd have been considerably less concerned if it _were_. "It's personal?"

"Yes," Amelia admits. "Very."

It's like a veil slides over Moira's face as she readies herself for the conversation ahead, something steels within her and Amelia quite suddenly feels like a child being taken to the principal's office for acting foolishly. Neither of them say another word until they're indoors though. They head directly to Moira's study where the older woman gestures toward the sofa silently before taking the higher-seated armchair for herself.

Always jockeying for position, Moira Queen. Retirement can't change that. It's in her nature.

But the first question out of her mouth is not one that Amelia had anticipated.

"Are you pregnant?" Moira asks.

It's said abruptly for a reason, to earn an honest reaction and establish an upper hand in the conversation. It absolutely achieves both aims. Amelia almost chokes on the laugh that bubbles up in the back of her throat.

"No," she says quickly. "Definitely not. That's… not a part of my plans."

"Neither was my daughter or two of my grandchildren," Moira points out. It's true, but the barest reference to Will makes Amelia flinch slightly and there's absolutely no way that Moira misses that. But she lets it pass for now. "How is Thad?"

"He's… fine," Amelia replies. It's the very best description of things with Thad that she can envision. They're _fine_. They're not great. They're not even really good. They're… well, they're fine.

"You're not unhappy with him," Moira deduces. "That's good. He's a remarkable man." It's funny only because everyone else's measure today had been her happiness, not her _unhappiness_. But Amelia can't linger on that too long because Moira's questions haven't finished. "Is he having an affair?"

"No," Amelia replies, a little insulted on Thad's behalf. "Of course not."

"Are you?" Moira asks. It's sharper, more honed. If words could have teeth, she's fairly certain Moira's question would leave a mark.

"N… No," Amelia replies again. It's a little uncertain, though - she can't help it - and the disbelief on Moira's face tells her everything she needs to know about how that response was received.

"The occasional indiscretion happens, Amelia," Moira informs her. "I can help you, but not if you lie to me, not if you don't tell me what's going on."

"I'm not having an affair," Amelia says more firmly. "I haven't done anything."

"But you want to," Moira observes.

"No," Amelia laughs wryly. She's so close, but so far off the mark at the same time. "I don't. I don't want to do that to him, to _either_ of them, but I'm just... " She stops, huffs, shakes her head and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Is this enough? Thad is… he's a good man. He's smart and kind and handsome. He's headed places and we get along just fine. Is that enough? Is that… is that all that matters? Couldn't it be so much more than that? Wouldn't that be better?"

If there was any part of her that expected Moira Queen to smile and agree, it would have been sorely disappointed. The older woman's eyes narrow and she raises her chin as she studies Amelia's uneasy, impassioned face.

"What, precisely, did my grandson say to you?"

Amelia finds herself blinking and staring down at the fringe of the throw rug as her mind races and her mouth goes dry. Coming to her mentor for advice had been one thing, to have been read so thoroughly - so quickly - by Will's grandmother and confronted with her feelings is very much another.

"He's very charming," Moira continues. It does not sound like a compliment when she says it. It doesn't sound like the Will that Amelia knows, in spite of the words fitting. And she finds herself looking up hesitantly, meeting the Queen matriarch's eyes with far too much vulnerability showing in her own. "The Queen men always have been. It's both a gift and a curse."

"It's not just that," Amelia replies. It comes out as a near whisper because it's an open admission that they're talking about Will and she can't quite believe she's voicing this aloud to Moira Queen. "He makes me feel. He makes me _dream_. It's not just that he's charming. It's like, when I'm with him, it's like nothing else matters, like the rest of the world just fades to background noise. And that's… it's…"

"Addictive," Moira acknowledges. "The way he makes it seem like you're everything to him, that's something that's hard to turn down, isn't it? I should know. His grandfather was much the same way." Moira gets up, but motions for Amelia to keep seated as she heads over to her desk and unlocks a drawer, rummaging through it. "He reminds me so much of Robert, at times. As he gets older, there are moments where he even looks like him. It's the smile, you know. That rakish grin that makes even the most intelligent of women swoon and question their own common sense."

Amelia recoils a little at that assessment, but bites down on her lip to keep from saying anything.

"Do you know what the best part of my relationship with Robert was, Amelia?" Moira questions, pulling herself upright and squaring her shoulders. There's a binder in her hands that Amelia's trying not to stare at.

"I don't think we ever talked about him," Amelia answers.

"We didn't," Moira confirms. "But perhaps we ought to have. The best thing about my life with Robert was that he gave me my son." The way her face lights up at that tells Amelia precisely how much she values that, but she doesn't linger on the upsides of her relationship for long. "He was very good at making me feel special, of course. Robert was dashing and a blatant flirt. He had this way about him… well it worked in the boardroom as well as it worked at a party. It drew people to him. But men like Robert - like _William_ \- are not the sort who are meant for just one woman. They aren't built like that."

"I don't believe that," Amelia breathes out. It's a knee-jerk reaction, but that just makes it more instinctive, more honest. "Not about Will."

"How well do you really know him, Amelia?" Moira chastises with a shake of her head.

"At least as well as you do," Amelia counters.

"Yes, well… that doesn't say very much, does it?" Moira asks.

"Then how can you say this?" Amelia questions, standing abruptly. "How can you stand here and admit you don't know him well, but tell me what kind of man he is?"

"Because I've seen it," Moira replies, eyes widening and jaw set. It's a challenge if ever Amelia's seen one. "So have you. You're just choosing to ignore it at the moment." She drops the folder in her hands on the desk with a dull thud. Amelia actually backs up a step like it might bite her. "You started this binder for me, Amelia. Would you like to see what's been added to it since you last looked?"

Amelia's heart pounds in her ears and she shakes her head violently before she even realizes she's moving it. "No," she says quietly. "I don't need to see that. I know he's… He's single. His love life is his own business. It has nothing to do with me at this point."

The look on Moira's face is flat out pitying and Amelia hates it - she _hates_ it. Part of her mind screams at her for coming here. Why had she come here? Why - of all people - is she talking to Moira Queen about this? But the bigger part knows that this is exactly what she came for. She's here to be talked out of her impulses, to bury her instincts and kill the fledgling dreams she holds for _more_.

"Would it have been your business the night of the gala?" Moira asks. Amelia jerks at the question and bites her lips together shaking her head. She doesn't want to hear this, not even a little. "Does it matter that he danced so intimately with you, but then he took home a pretty little blonde who stuck around for an hour before leaving with her shoes in hand?"

" _Stop_ ," Amelia pleads. It's all too much. She doesn't want to remember that girl so clearly, doesn't want to be able to picture so easily how Will would have kissed her and taken her to bed. Not when she knows she'd been sitting in her hotel room at the same moment, wondering if she'd done the right thing, second guessing all of her own choices and longing for him.

"Take note of that feeling you're experiencing right now, Amelia," Moira advises, rounding the desk and placing a hand on her elbow. "If you choose a man like him, you'll need to get used to it."

"She was his date," Amelia points out, pulling her arm away.

"Yes," Moira agrees. "And yet he was more than willing to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he pawned her off on his thirteen-year-old brother, wasn't he?"

"It's different," Amelia insists, her voice breaking. " _We're_ different."

"My dear… how many women in that folder do you think felt the very same way?" Moira asks with a sigh. A sinking feeling of nausea hits Amelia all of a sudden and her head spins. She grabs hold of the desk with one hand, just to steady herself, and she presses the other over her mouth. "Maybe you're right," Moira allows. "Maybe you _are_ different. Maybe you're special to him. But you are far too intelligent a woman to play those odds."

"I know I'm right," Amelia insists, pulling her hand away from her mouth. She ignores the way tears spill over her eyelids. They don't matter. Not right now. "I'm _right_. Will is not Robert. And not all Queen men are like you've described them. Oliver would never in a million years even look at a woman other than his wife."

"Oliver's surprised me," Moira agrees. "I hadn't thought him capable of fidelity. If you'd known him in his youth, you'd have thought the same. But Felicity is one-in-a-million and there was a _long_ line of girls before her who thought they were the one who could snag my son. Maybe you're William's one-in-a-million, but are you really ready to risk everything on that? Because, you need to be certain, Amelia. This isn't just your relationship with Thad and your heart you'd be risking. It's your job, too. Politics is brutal for women. Are you ready for the scrutiny and the rumors that would come with leaving a prominent state senator for a Queen? Are you ready for if he's more like his grandfather than you want to believe? A cuckolded woman looks weak. A cheating man gets painted by the press as virile. You _know_ that's true."

"He wouldn't," Amelia argues. "He _wouldn't_. Will's not a cheater." All of a sudden, she's back at the bar with Will in her head and she can perfectly picture his handsome face telling her just that, denying even the idea of them doing anything more than touching hands while she was with someone else. God, her wrist _still_ tingles where he'd run his thumb across it earlier. "Do you have one woman - a single woman - in that entire binder that he cheated on?"

Amelia doesn't really have any reason to have this much faith in Will, but it's there anyhow. She just _knows_. She believes him, believes _in_ him, and that pays off in spades when Moira has to take a second to regain her composure. "I don't," she admits.

"See?" Amelia asks. It feels like such a victory and a part of her heart soars at the vindication. "He would not cheat on me, Moira. I know that with every fiber of my being. I won't lie and say that him being with that girl from the gala doesn't hurt - it does - but it's also irrelevant. I can deal with the press and the politics. I don't care about that."

"You will," Moira predicts. "You will when Thad's career pays the price for you leaving him for a Queen. You will when you give up your own hard-won career for a boy with a nice smile and some charming words that you don't really know at all."

"What are you talking about?" Amelia asks. "I'm not giving up my career for him."

"Mayor Lance has a chief of staff, Amelia. She doesn't need another one," Moira points out. "And William is never going to leave his siblings to join you in Central City. Are you considering a long distance relationship? Because I have to say, whether you're right about him or not, that lowers your odds of this working out considerably."

Just like that, Amelia's heart drops again and with it, reality sets in. "I hadn't thought about that yet," she admits.

Moira sighs and gestures back toward the sofa. This time, they both take a seat and the older woman takes one of her hands between both of her own.

"I understand entirely where you're at," she assures Amelia, squeezing her hands before letting them go. "Moments of questioning yourself are normal, but you need to keep your head about you. You're a logical woman, Amelia, and you have such a promising future. I would never have taken you on as an intern all those years ago if that weren't true. But we are women in politics and, my own indiscretions aside, missteps are rarely forgiven."

Amelia nods. "I just…" she says quietly, stopping to swallow hard. "I just love the way I feel when I'm with him. I've never felt that before. I don't want to let go of that. It feels like a mistake to let it go."

Moira lets out a hesitantly pained exhale and looks off to the side as she blinks hard. "This is an incredibly awkward statement to make," she allows, speaking slowly. "But I would be remiss as your mentor if I didn't caution you to be exceedingly discreet, should you decide to engage in an affair."

"He's not a cheat, Moira," Amelia reminds her, trying very hard not to envision precisely what she's suggesting and flushing at the realization that it's Will's _grandmother_ suggesting it. "And neither am I."

"Then go home, Amelia," Moira counsels her, her voice firm and unwavering. "Go home to Thad. Take stock of what you already have. He's a good man. He loves you and you have built such strong foundations of your careers together. Leave these fanciful notions of William for your dreams. That's where they'll serve you best."

Of everything Moira's said, Amelia suspects this is amongst the least accurate. It's not that she won't dream of Will - she will; _God_ but she will - but the idea that thoughts of him will serve her best there.

They won't.

He'll haunt her.

And she knows it.

Oh, God, she feels sick just thinking about it all. Her head swims as reality sets it, gripping tight with its biting claws and leaving her feeling pinned in place with freshly made scars. She has never been a fanciful person, not even before she lost her father. But the urge to let go of her own expectations, of all her plans and carefully managed goals, it's near overwhelming when she thinks of Will Queen. He brings something to life inside her, something she's never known before, and she loves that little sliver of herself that surfaces in his presence. Letting that go, intentionally turning her back on him and all the possibilities he brings into her life, it feels like mourning a death of lives unlived.

But she only has one life. And it's one that doesn't have room for risks as steep and dangerous as Will Queen.

That absolutely doesn't make this hurt any less, though.

At least Moira doesn't seem to judge her for that. Amelia's grateful for that small favor.

"I'm glad you came to me," the older woman confides, gripping her shoulder tightly in a quick moment of support tinged with affection. "I hope you know you always can. I can understand the appeal of a charming man with a handsome face, but there's far more to consider than just that."

Amelia nods and smiles in response, but it's forced and thin. Her heart hurts and a big part of her just wants to cry.

It's a surprise when her cell phone rings, breaking the somewhat solemn air that's filled the room, and Amelia pulls it out of her purse right away, but pauses before answering it.

"You should take that," Moira counsels firmly.

Thad's smiling face stares back up at her from the screen. It's formal, stiff… _polite_. The kind of smile she can't imagine ever gracing Will's lips. He lives so fully, lets himself feel so much, expresses every inch of it.

"Hello?" she asks as she answers the phone. Moira discreetly leaves the office and Amelia clears her throat as she stands and moves toward the giant picture window that overlooks the Queen gardens.

"Hey," Thad's voice greets her. It's familiar and a little rushed. "You should sit down."

" _Why_?" she asks sharply.

"I'll tell you once you're sitting," he replies.

"Who says I'm not?" she questions.

"I know you, Amelia," he replies with a huff. "You're pacing." She stops the moment his words register. She hadn't even been aware she was moving. "You were going to pace the instant you realized something was wrong, no matter where you were."

"Just tell me," she snaps, partly annoyed at being kept waiting and partly at the fact that he's _right_.

He sighs, clearly relenting. "I ran into Councilman Marks coming out of Representative Pryce's office."

"Why would…" Amelia clicks into work mode immediately, standing up a bit straighter as everything falls into place. "Are they screwing with my healthcare initiative? I swear to god, if Pryce gets his slimy hands on-"

"Hey… it's fine," Thad cuts her off, but she's not done ranting.

"It's _not_ fine," she insists, shaking her head. "It's the opposite of fine. I've been working on this for six months, Thad. This is the cornerstone of _everything_ I've done this year and if Pryce comes in and gets in my way, I will-"

"I took care of it!" Thad says, interrupting her loudly. "Take a breath. It's fine. I know what this means to you and it's good for the city. You're right. I pulled a few strings. You don't need to worry. I've got your back. You know that."

Guilt surges through her at those words and she finds herself nodding without realizing it. "Yeah… I do," she agrees after a minute. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he promises before pausing. She can practically hear the smile in his voice and it only serves to make her feel worse. He's a good man, a kind man who loves her, someone whose life she's thoroughly intertwined her life with her own. She's lucky to have him. "Think you'll be home in time for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I, uh…" Amelia swallows hard and pushes down her guilt along with her longing. Two choices, Maggie had said. Take Will out of the equation entirely. Is the life she has the one she wants? It has to be, she decides. It really does. "Yeah, I will be," she finishes.

"Good," he replies. "I miss you, Amelia. See you tomorrow night."

"See you soon," she agrees before hanging up and slipping her phone back into her purse. Her fingers brush against her wallet and she thinks about the note from Will tucked behind her license. With her path chosen, maybe she should get rid of it, keep it from sitting there tauntingly, just out of reach. But she can't stand the thought of that, so she leaves the little slip of paper right where it is.

It'll stay there for many years to come. But, even sight unseen, it never strays far from her mind.


	35. May 10th, 2022

**May 10, 2022**

The first thing that strikes Will as strange is that his mom intends to stick around. That's _unusual_. She and his dad get along okay, but it's not like they spend time together except for his sake. The second thing is the grim, anxious press of his father's smile when he answers the door. That's enough to set off alarms in Will's head and make him a whole lot more alert of what's going on around him.

But, Ellie is clearly, blissfully unaware.

"It's my _birthday_!" she announces, barrelling through the room and launching herself at him when she gets close. Luckily, he's well prepared and scoops her up from mid-air, leaving a loud, wet smack of a kiss on his newly-four-year-old sister's cheek.

"Happy birthday, Ellie-bug!" he tells her. Her answering smile is blinding.

"I'm _four_ , Will! Four whole years old," she reminds him.

"I know," Will laughs. "I remember when you were born. You were early. You scared your mom."

"Well, we had it on pretty good authority what day she'd arrive on," Oliver points out. His voice is grumbly and tight. Will's a touch surprised to see his mom grip his dad's shoulder in a quick moment of solidarity. They aren't close, after all, but his father glances back with a grateful look on his face. Will holds Ellie a little tighter at that, because _what_ exactly is going on?

"Is everything okay?" he asks, looking between his parents.

"Of _course_ it is, silly!" Ellie declares. "It's my birthday!"

That's not an answer, of course, as much as she might think that it is, and Will is hyperaware of the hesitant glances between his mom and dad. But, ultimately, distraction comes honestly.

And loudly.

"Oh thank god," Felicity announces, hand to her chest as she pushes down obvious panic. She's _enormous_ these days, less than a month away from giving birth to Will's baby brother, and he's kind of amazed that she was able to waddle into the room as quickly as she does. But he's also got far too much sense to say that aloud. "Ellie, baby," she says sternly. "You can't run off like that."

Ellie's head quirks to the side and her brow furrows in clear confusion. "We're at home…" she replies, looking from her mother to her father like none of this makes sense at all to her. That's fair because it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to Will either.

At least, not right away.

"Just for today, Ellie-bug," his dad says, brushing his fingers through the little girl's curls. It's the motion of his dad's hands that draw's Will's attention, but that's not what keeps it. No, what keeps it is a brand new, shiny necklace his little sister's wearing.

Will's heart drops to the floor at the sight and his head spins with the implications, but Ellie's grinning widely, holding it out for him to see, clearly having caught on to what he was looking at.

"Isn't it pretty?" she asks, her eyes bright and innocent. "It's all shiny! Cisco made it for me. He came for my party, too. So did Barry and Caitlin and Iris and _everybody_ 's here."

"Yeah," Will says dimly, forcing a smile a moment later as he swallows and meets Ellie's eyes. "Yeah, I bet they are."

"Will…" his father says slowly, obviously realizing that his eldest has caught on to exactly what his littlest sister is wearing and what it means.

"I'm glad you're here," Ellie says seriously, kissing Will's cheek. "I gotta get down, though. Barry said he was super hungry from running here and I need to protect my cake because you _know_ how he gets."

"Barry is not going to eat your cake," Felicity huffs, rolling her eyes and holding out her hand for her younger daughter as Will puts her down. "But let's go make sure he doesn't go through the rest of the snacks on his own, okay?"

Even at not-quite-fourteen, Will's incredibly aware of what's going on with the people around him. That's doubly true when it's his family. And he doesn't miss when Felicity grips Ellie's hand tightly enough that her knuckles lose some color and her thumb soothes over the back of the little girl's hand like she's trying to prove to herself that her daughter is still there.

Will waits for his stepmother and sister to leave the room before turning to look at his dad. "You could've told me. I'm not an idiot, you know."

Annoyance creeps up quickly. He's a teenager, damn it. Practically an adult. This is his family. If his baby sister might be in danger, he ought to know about it.

"We didn't want to worry you, honey," his mom says, butting in. And that tells him a whole lot right there. It'd been his mom's decision to keep him out of the loop and his dad had gone along with it. He wonders what his father would have chosen if he'd had his way.

"I'm not a little kid!" he insists, hating that it sounds petulant and a little whiny, completely contradicting his point. He takes a deep breath and looks back to his dad, making an effort to keep his voice serious and level. Adult. "I'm not. I deserve to know things, too."

Hesitance greets him in response. His dad takes a slow breath and licks his lips, casting his eyes briefly toward Will's mom. Will's pretty sure she's not gonna cave, so he pushes whatever advantage he's got.

" _Dad_ ," he stresses. "You wanna tell me if Zoom's showed up or am I gonna have to find out when time rips in half right in front of me."

It's a low blow - but an accurate one - and Will feels more than a little bad when his father flinches and blinks too hard, too fast, like he's trying to banish an image imprinted on his mind's eye.

"No," his father replies. "There's been nothing, but-"

"But today's the day the other Ellie got sent back in time," Will finishes for him.

It is.

He knows that.

But it still feels like a punch to the gut when he watches his father nod slowly in reply. "Better safe than sorry," he notes.

"And that's why you're staying, right Mom?" Will demands, turning to face her.

"I didn't want you here at all," she replies. Will wants to protest immediately, but keeps quiet, tightening his jaw and gritting his teeth as she continues. "Your sister's birthday or not, I wanted you far away from all of this. But your father pointed out enough has changed that we can't know who, if anyone, will be in danger. You're safer here where there are a lot of people to protect you, too."

"I can protect myself," Will answers, unable to hold his tongue any more. He's so indignant right now. His mom is treating him like a baby - like he's the one turning four instead of Ellie - and it makes him _so angry_ because that's just unfair. "I can protect myself _and_ Ellie. I'm her big brother. It's my job to help keep her safe."

"Will..." his dad says slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder. It's not without sympathy, but Will's not satisfied by unspoken support.

"No," Will insists, stepping back and crossing his arms in defiance. "You'd have wanted to protect Aunt Thea when you were a teenager, if she was in danger."

His dad winces at the mention and Will feels a touch guilty about bringing up Aunt Thea, but his point is completely valid and he knows it.

"I still want to protect your Aunt Thea," his father says solemnly. His face is grave at the words and he looks so much older for a moment that it's startling. "I get where you're at, Will. I do. But you're our son. The view looks different from our perspective than it did when I was your age. Maybe you'll understand that one day."

"That's _not fair_ ," Will protests, thoroughly unsatisfied with the answer. "You _know_ if you were in my shoes, you'd-" But anything else he'd been about to add gets left unsaid when Jules steps into the room.

Everyone freezes.

"What's going on?" she asks, a suspicious line to her brow as her eyes dart between the three of them.

"Nothing, honey," her father tells her. "Nothing you need to worry about." The qualification means he's not lying, exactly. He definitely thinks it's nothing she needs to know about, but Will is positive that his seven-year-old sister won't see it that way at all. She's been more vocal these past few months about her thoughts, but she's also lashed out a lot more. Not at him, though. He's been lucky. Some days it feels like she's got a chip on her shoulder toward everyone _but_ him, and Will's both grateful for that and wishes he knew a way to help her. Jules has a tendency to see slights against her where none are intended.

"Sure," she says dryly, clearly not buying her father's denial in the least. Their dad looks hurt at the response and Will knows full well that he's mentally scrambling to try and repair things with Jules as best he can.

"I promise, Julie-bug," Oliver says heavily, watching his older daughter. "It's grown up Arrow stuff, okay? Nothing I want you worried about. I want you to have fun and enjoy the party."

"Is that why Barry's here and Uncle Digg has a gun?" she asks, cocking her head to the side and raising an eyebrow at her father. She's perceptive to a fault, sometimes. And when she latches on to something, she's unlikely to let go.

"We're just being careful," he replies, which is sort of confirmation but also a dismissal of the conversation. "Why don't you go show your brother the decorations out back?"

"Sure," she replies sharply. "Maybe I'll show him the best places to play hide and seek, while I'm at it."

Lord, she sounds childish right now. She's being petulant and difficult on purpose - fully aware that the adults are hovering like something might strike and put them in danger at any moment - and Will can read the frustration on his father's face like it's spelled out in words. Jules voicing her mistrust of her place in the family a few months ago had thrown him and Felicity for a loop. They've been walking on eggshells ever since, trying to repair what they didn't even know was broken. Sometimes Will thinks that does more harm than good. But, then, he's never been in their shoes. Jules seems to trust him, to lump him into a different category than the rest of her family.

"You like making Dad and Felicity panic, don't you?" Will asks her.

"It's a hobby," she replies, offering him a smile.

"Come on, Brat," he says affectionately, walking over and ruffling her hair. " _Hey_!" she protests loudly. But it's half-hearted at best and he keeps his hand atop her head as he says, "Lead me to the food. I'm starving."

"You're _always_ hungry," she counters as they head through the kitchen. He drums his fingers along the top of her skull just to annoy her. It works, of course, and she swats at his hand with a, "Quit it, dorkbrain!" after a moment.

"Dorkbrain?" he asks with a laugh, letting his hand fall away. She just shrugs and sticks her tongue out at him as a reply. He laughs harder at the sight. "We need to work on your insults, Brat."

"I'm not a brat," she insists, pushing open the back door. He blinks as sunlight invades his eyes, momentarily blinding him.

"All evidence to the contrary," he quips. But he puts an arm around her and tugs her close in stark contradiction to their banter. He loves the hell out of his sister, but she accepts that best with a bit of snark attached to it. And he's happy to provide that. "Wow, so… like _everyone_ is here," he adds, slowing his gait to a stop as he steps into the yard.

It's true. Practically everyone ever associated with Team Arrow is on hand, filling the backyard of the brownstone. And, in spite of the balloons and streamers and pin-the-tail-on-Rascal-the-Racoon, he can sense the uneasiness of the space. Everyone is alert and, even though it's more obvious with some than others, everyone is armed. Ellie doesn't seem to notice - she's too wrapped up in the joys of turning four, twirling in circles in front of Aunt Thea so that her party dress billows out - but it's not going to escape Jules or Little Sara.

"So… this is a fun party, right?" Little Sara asks. Her tone is insincere and she trades knowing looks with Jules. While the two aren't especially close, in spite of being the same age, when they are in sync it's like they're two-of-a-kind.

"I really like how Dad's bow is leaning up against the house," Jules agrees. Her voice is all sass. "Very festive."

"My favorite might be how Big Sara's twirling the stick for the pinata like it's her bo," Little Sara adds.

"It's multipurpose," Jules muses. It's like she's trying to sound older than she is and her voice makes Will shake his head in disbelief. She's _seven_. What the hell is she doing using words like 'multipurpose?'

"So, you're going to tell us what's going on, right?" Little Sara asks, suddenly drawing his attention back to the girl.

It's only when Will takes a moment to look between the two girls that he realizes he's been played. By two _first graders_. When, exactly, they decided he was the weakest link in the information chain, he's not sure, but they definitely did. They look at him with twin expectant gazes awaiting an explanation and all Will can do is laugh nervously.

"We're not babies," Jules points out, crossing her arms in front of her and cocking her head to the side. "We deserve to know."

It does not escape Will that her rationalization sounds a whole lot like his and realizing that is a bit jarring. But, in his mind, he'd very much had a point - he's a teenager after all - where the girls are just a bit deluded about how ready they are for the realities of the world around them.

"It's, uh… it's Ellie's fourth birthday," Will tells them, sort of hoping they'll do the math themselves and figure things out without him saying anything that implicates him of clueing in his baby sister on information their dad and Felicity had obviously kept from her intentionally.

"So that's a reason to hit DEFCON two?" Jules asks, looking up at him in disbelief, clearly not buying his words in the least.

"Where did you get the term DEFCON from?" WiIl questions, blinking back at her.

"I watched movies with Uncle Roy last weekend," Jules informs him, which thoroughly explains that, anyhow. "Don't dodge the question, Will."

"We are not at DEFCON two," Will tells her firmly. Surely it's no worse than three, right? It's not _that_ bad. It's not like…

"Nyssa is in full League armor and hasn't taken her hand off of her sword since she got here," Little Sara deadpans.

Will looks across the yard to find that's true. The assassin currently eyes the pinata like either she can't figure out what it is or possibly it might attack at any moment, but she's on high alert, too, and it's very obvious that she's highly aware of everything going on around her.

"You… might have a point," Will allows with a wince.

"So, are you gonna tell us or are you gonna be like the adults and treat us like we're toddlers?" Jules demands. It's a test. She's asking Will if she can trust him or if she should lump him into the same group she's relegated everyone else. Will _can't_ tell her everything. He can't. But he also can't tell her nothing and he knows it.

"I'm going to tell you that it's _Ellie's fourth birthday_. It is _May tenth of 2022_. And because of that, everyone is here," Will tells her. His voice is pointed and his eyes intense, like he's trying to drive that point home without saying anything at all.

Jules' brow furrows at that, clearly trying to interpret what he's trying to tell her without telling her, but missing the significance of the date. Sara's clearly at a loss too and Will's hard pressed to decide who amongst the three of them is the most frustrated.

"What's with the grouchy faces? You'd think you were Oliver's kids or something."

All three of them turn to Roy at the same time.

"Hilarious, Uncle Roy," Jules says with an unimpressed air.

"Thanks," he smiles. "I thought so. But, seriously, what's up? Did Felicity cut you off from fruit juice already?"

"Well.. _yes_ , actually," Jules grumbles. "She said there'd be enough sugar with the cake later."

"I'll sneak you some," Roy tells her, risking a glance in Felicity's direction before winking at Jules. Will's eyebrows shoot up at that as he gives his uncle a wary look. He considers himself a brave guy, but he's not foolhardy and he's not about to go up against Felicity's rules. Not _ever_ , but especially not when she's eight months pregnant and he saw her cry over dropping a strawberry on the floor by mistake last week. Pregnancy makes women crazy, Will's decided.

"This is why I love you, Uncle Roy," Jules says sweetly. Sara's wearing the same exact look. They might as well have identical fake halos hanging above their heads. It's obvious to Will that they've redirected their focus on Roy to pry information out of, but his uncle has no clue what's coming.

"I got your back, kid," he promises with a grin.

"I know," Jules agrees. "You always do." Her eyes are _huge_ , adoring, and while some of that is honest, a much bigger part of it is Jules playing her advantage to get what she wants. Roy is unsuspecting enough that Will sighs and shakes his head. So, that, of course, is exactly when Jules strikes. "That's why you'll tell me what's going on today. Right, Uncle Roy?"

Roy freezes. Nothing moves at all except for his eyes, which dart back and forth warily between Jules and Sara, who have him absolutely pinned with their expectant gazes. Really, he should have seen this coming, in Will's opinion. But, it's clear that he's completely unprepared.

"A… uh… a birthday party," Roy tries lamely. Will actually covers his face with his hands so he doesn't have to look at the completely disbelieving look on Jules' face that he _knows_ has taken it over.

"Only in my family does a party mean all the adults carry around weapons," Jules huffs out in frustration. "Come on, Uncle Roy. Don't lie to me. Everyone keeps things from me or lies to me, but you don't."

"Hey!" Will protests, letting his hands fall away as he looks at Jules. She seems a little abashed by her words when confronted with his annoyance.

"Okay, not _everyone_ ," she amends, tilting her head to acknowledge her big brother.

"Your parents don't lie to you, Jules," Roy counters, looking a whole lot more serious than he usually does. "They don't even keep much of anything from you. They never hid that your dad was The Arrow from you. They never lied about the first Ellie coming back in time. That's why this is bothering you so much today. Because they _don't_ lie and they don't keep things from you. Give them some credit. They deserve it."

Sometimes Uncle Roy seems like an overgrown teenager. He's fun and lighthearted, someone Will wishes he had more of a chance to see because he seems like the kind of person he could just goof off with. But then there's moments like this one - or moments where the weight of Thea's medical problems weighs down on them all - and he's suddenly serious, focused, entirely an adult, and it gives Will a bit of whiplash because he never expects it.

"Give them a break, Jules," Roy orders. "Today isn't easy for them. They're terrified and putting on a happy face for your little sister, so lay off them today, would you?"

That snags Jules' attention and something about the wording clearly tickles at the edges of her understanding. She quirks her head to the side and her brow pinches as she mulls things over.

But, in the end, it's Sara who catches on first.

"The first Ellie," she realizes aloud, grabbing onto Jules' elbow. "This is the day she went back in time, in her timeline." Jules says nothing, but that's typical when she's deep in thought. She worries at her bottom lip with her teeth and her eyes turn guarded. Sara, in turn, is the exact opposite. "They're worried it'll happen here, too," Sara realizes aloud. "They're afraid Zoom is gonna pop up and grab Ellie."

It's not Roy or Sara that Jules turns to, seeking confirmation; it's Will. Because she _always_ turns to him first. Most of the time, that's a point of pride for the teenager. He loves that his sister knows she can rely on him. But today it just hurts because she's as closed off as he's ever seen her and he can see shades of the same fear that lives in her parents' eyes living in her own. Jules, however, is not about to acknowledge that.

"She'll be fine," Will promises, resting a hand on Jules' back. "The yard is overflowing with assassins and metahumans and vigilantes ready to protect her, but there's nothing to worry about because nothing bad is gonna happen, anyhow. This isn't the other timeline."

He can practically see her force down her worry and hone in on her snark. It's easier for her. A defensive Jules is a difficult one. It's so much easier for her to pretend she doesn't care, that nothing can hurt her. But Will knows that's only because she feels everything so deeply.

"Whatever," she says after a minute, folding her arms in front of herself and hunching her shoulders. Suddenly, Will wonders if they hadn't told Jules what was going on because it would have been too much for her. "Of course they're making a big deal out of Ellie. I'm gonna go get some food."

She's gone before Will has a chance to even sigh in frustration, making her way across the yard to a big table with an impressive spread of food laid out atop it. She grabs a plate right away, but makes no move to fill it up. Instead, she stares at Ellie who laughs unreservedly a few feet away as her Aunt Thea blows bubbles that she tries to catch. Each and every one pops the instant her fingers touch them, but that doesn't seem to bother her at all. The sisters are like night and day, sometimes.

"I'm gonna stick with Ellie," Sara decides aloud, suddenly drawing Will's attention back to the girl. "You know, just in case."

"Don't tell her anything," Roy tells her. "She won't understand. She's too little for that and it would ruin her birthday. You got me, little Diggle?"

"I got you," Sara confirms with a firm nod before heading over to join Ellie. She tries to help catch the bubbles and Ellie is obviously delighted to have her best friend playing alongside her, but Will can easily see how much more alert the seven-year-old is than usual. Just like the many adults in the yard, she's keyed up for something to happen, for anything to go wrong.

Jules is, too, he realizes. She's just a whole lot more subtle about it. She hovers nearby under the shade of the big tree that houses their fairy castle, not joining in. Everything about her projects that she wants to be left alone, but she's as aware of her surroundings as can be and she rarely lets her gaze drift from Ellie. Jules cares. She cares _so much_ that she doesn't know what to do with it sometimes and a big part of Will wants to go hug his sister and tease her until she smiles and rolls her eyes at him.

But this isn't the time for that. Sometimes Jules needs space, time to process, and he's learned to read her well enough to know that this is definitely one of those times.

"Should I have lied to them?" Roy's voice is unsure and when Will turns to his uncle, the other man is still looking at the girls with a furrowed brow. "I know your dad didn't want Jules to know, but she's got more figured out than her parents wanna realize."

"Lying just makes things worse," Will tells him. Roy looks at him expectantly, waiting for more. That his uncle has never treated him like he was a little kid whose opinion doesn't deserve consideration is one of Will's very favorite things about him. And, that's on full display right now. The older man is clearly not just hearing him, but also _listening_ to him. Will likes that. A lot. "Jules' trust isn't easily earned and it doesn't take much to break it. She's… she's got a lot going on in that head of hers right now. She needs to know there are people who have her back who she can turn to. That's you and that's me. It needs to stay that way."

Roy thinks about that for a minute before nodding and looking back to his niece. "I love that kid… and not just 'cause she's making her dad's hair turn gray, but that's a big plus, too."

"It's pretty funny when she makes his eye twitch, too," Will agrees with a grin. Sometimes Jules' sass is a lot more palatable than others.

Roy doesn't say anything to that, but the grin on his face and the way his eyes light up absolutely say that he agrees completely. Will doesn't linger on the sight, though, because something catches his eye from behind his uncle.

"Hey, do me a favor and keep an eye on Jules?" Will asks. "I've got something I need to do real quick."

"Yeah," Roy agrees, giving him a guarded look. "Everything okay?"

"It's fine," Will tells him. "I'll be back in just a few and I'm just stepping inside. Just… if Jules needs anything or if she's looking for me, let me know?"

"You got it," Roy agrees before clapping him on the shoulder and making his way over to Jules' side, sitting next to her on the grass and stealing a piece of fruit from her plate. She scowls at him and gives him a hard time about getting his own food, but it's half-hearted at best and Will feels a lot better about stepping away after seeing it.

Which is good, because someone else in his family needs him right now.

While pretty much everyone is mingling outside, there is one person who's wound up back in the kitchen. Will steps into the room, quietly shuts the door behind him and stops, not entirely sure what to do next.

Felicity is one of the strongest people he's ever known. She is fiercely protective and loyal, endlessly accepting and loving. But, through some combination of pregnancy hormones and stress, today has clearly overwhelmed her. She's standing near the sink, close enough to the party outside that she can watch Ellie through the window, but far enough away that she can let herself be a wreck without anyone noticing. She grips the edge of the countertop with one hand and presses the palm of her other to her mouth as she sucks down a ragged sob.

Even though he knows what this is about, Will's instinct is to ask her what's wrong. He doesn't though.

Instead he crosses the room toward her. She spots him, jolting in surprise when he's about halfway there, and she goes to say something, but he doesn't slow his stride at all. Instead, he closes in on her and pulls her into a tight hug.

She sags against him almost immediately, holding on like he's the only thing keeping her upright. He's nearly as tall as her now and her faded blonde hair tickles his nose when she rests her chin on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she sniffles. "Nothing's wrong."

"It's okay to be scared anyhow," he says. "You're a good mom. You're gonna worry."

The noise she makes in response is somewhere between a laugh and a cry, but she loosens her hold on him and pulls back until she's looking him in the face. She cups his cheeks and kisses his forehead. She has to push up slightly on her tiptoes to do it, these days, and the baby bump housing his little brother makes _everything_ awkward, but that doesn't matter so much.

"You're the _best_ , kiddo," she tells him when she sets back down on her heels.

"I know," he says with a cheeky grin, just to make her smile. "So… are you really okay? Did you need me to get Dad?"

"No," she says immediately. " _God_ , no. He needs to be completely focused on Ellie today. That's why…" She stops and shakes her head, like she's trying to rid the thought from her mind, but Will knows the rest of what she didn't say. That's why she's in here. That's why she's stepped away. That's why when she got overwhelmed, she disappeared but kept everyone in sight. "Today's just hard," she continues, taking a deep breath. "I keep remembering… I keep seeing… and it's not just her, you know. It's the other Ellie, too, because today was…"

She can't even quite finish a thought. She's that overwhelmed right now and it leaves Will just wanting to protect her more, to make things better.

"Our Ellie is fine," Will reminds her, tilting his head toward the yard where Ellie is pelting adults with exceedingly well-aimed water balloons. "And it's okay to miss the other Ellie, still."

"I do," Felicity admits. "Not like I used to. And I know she's where she belongs. But that's not quite what I meant." Will waits, watches, gives a little nod to prompt her to continue. "It's the other Felicity," she confesses. "That first Ellie's actual mom. If I'm this much of a mess when nothing's even happened, what was it like for her? And, God, to have had her missing for the next month? To give birth to Nate without knowing where my little girl is? To not even know if she's safe or if I'd ever see her again? I can't even imagine it. I don't want to. But, back then, I wanted to keep her, Will. How could I think that way? I didn't want to give her back."

"You did, though," Will points out immediately, even if he's a bit uncertain he's saying the right thing. It feels right. But he's only thirteen, after all, and his understanding of how his stepmother feels is theoretical at best. "And that other Felicity was so lucky to have someone who loved her Ellie so much taking care of her, right?"

Felicity must pick up on his hesitance because she sighs hard and kisses his cheek before stroking the hair back from his brow. "You're such a good kid, Will. I love you. You shouldn't have to deal with this. I'm sorry, honey. You should go back and enjoy the party."

"No!" he protests immediately. His voice squeaks a little and he flushes as he clears his throat. It's incredibly annoying how that seems to happen whenever he really, really doesn't want to seem like a little kid to someone. "No," he says again. "I came in here because I saw you through the window and I knew you were upset. No one should be alone when they're upset… unless they really wanna be, anyhow, but especially not you."

"You're such a sweetheart," she sniffles. It's probably the pregnancy, for the most part, but Will's pretty sure she's about to burst into tears again. "How did I get so lucky?"

"Karma," Will grins brightly at her. She hiccups a laugh through a little muted sob and nods her head. "You feel a little better?"

"Maybe a bit," she agrees. "Thanks, kiddo. I… am gonna go pee for the fourteenth time this hour since your little brother has decided my bladder makes an amazing thing to bounce on. And I'm gonna splash some water on my face so I don't look like the crying preggo that I am. How about you head back outside and look after your sister."

"I'll keep her safe," Will vows immediately.

"Oh, honey…" Felicity smiles, shaking her head at him. "Will, every person here can do that. You can make sure she has _fun_ , make sure that turning four isn't about heavily armed vigilantes surrounding her. I want her to have the best party ever, even if… even if something _does_ happen, even if he…" She can't finish the thought, pinching her eyes shut and turning her face to the side as she exhales out a long, steadying breath. "Well, I still want her to have _this_ , you know?" she finishes a moment later.

"Yeah…" Will agrees, glancing toward the yard where he can see Ellie looking curiously at Nyssa - who showed up with a stern face in full assassin gear. "Yeah I can do that."

And he does.

When his stepmother winds up back in the yard a few minutes after him, he's already making crowns out of balloons for his little sisters and Ellie is giggling, declaring herself the 'birthday fairy princess president.'

It's a nervous afternoon and evening for all of the adults, but Will concentrates on what he does best - keeping his siblings happy and entertained. And when the clock strikes midnight many hours later, with Ellie and Jules and Sara all fast asleep in a pillow castle in the living room, all of the adults sag with relief. But Will smiles through a yawn, fully aware that what Ellie will remember from today isn't the fear that had surrounded her, but the fun she'd had. And he knows, without a doubt, that today he made a difference.


	36. October 2020

**October 2020**

He's waiting for her when she finally gets home.

Felicity's fingers freeze where they'd been tapping out a rapid, uneven staccato against her steering wheel when she sees him as the garage door slowly opens. He's sitting on the front steps leading into the house, his elbows leaning against his knees, his hands laced in front of him. It looks casual, easy… except for the guilt lining his broad shoulders and the grim slant of his lips.

She almost puts the car in reverse and leaves.

 _Almost._

She should have expected this, she realizes, should have known this was happening the second she got an update text from Thea about her and Roy picking up Jules from kindergarten and Ellie from the daycare.

For a long moment Felicity doesn't move. She just sits in place in their small driveway with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and her car rumbling gently underneath her. She'd be blocking anyone who wanted to pull into the alley behind her, but she doesn't care. Neither does Oliver, apparently, because he's just as still, his eyes glued on her.

 _Waiting._

Felicity grips the steering wheel tight, wringing her hands around it, trying to remember how to breathe. But her lungs aren't getting the memo and instead of expanding and pushing much needed oxygen through her body, they're completely stationary, leaving her gasping for bits and pieces of air.

It feels like a panic attack, but it's not. She knows what that feels like, how the anxiety can suffocate her.

No, this is something else.

 _Anger_.

 _Rage_.

 _Betrayal_.

Her wedding ring catches the dull light seeping through the cloudy sky.

She doesn't see the garage - the row of bikes hanging on one wall, the broken manual lawnmower they kept forgetting to get rid of sitting in one corner, the crammed-in workbench littered with toys, a forgotten bottle and Oliver's collection of tools that's grown along with his desire to fix things himself. Remnants of Jules' chalk drawings are scrawled against one wall, in deference to the unseasonably rainy weather they've had lately, but she barely registers their presence. She doesn't see Oliver's car or the double-stroller or Ellie's elephant blanket sitting on the passenger seat next to her or the half-open trash cans and too-full yard debris bin.

Felicity's entire world is zeroed in on _him_ and the feelings that'd threatened to drown her back at the bunker when she saw the flight confirmation on a private jet that was specifically outside of their usual range, chartered for a place she'd never, ever wanted to see. Never wanted _any_ of them to see.

Tears burn her eyes and she squeezes them shut, cringing when one of them sneaks out, streaking down her cheek.

Felicity wipes it away, her nails scraping the sensitive skin under her eye, making her wince, but that doesn't stop her from wiping at it again, erasing every last salty drop. She doesn't want to cry, she wants to _scream_. The urge builds in her chest, ballooning out, crawling up her throat, a physical _need_ to just… _let go_. But she doesn't, not yet. Partly because she doesn't want to scare the neighbors. Partly because she wants to make sure her husband hears it.

He's the first to give in.

Oliver slowly stands up. His eyes never leave hers, even when he winces as he puts weight on his knee, which tells her just how long he's been sitting there, waiting for her to come home. _Hours._ It's been hours and she's still nowhere near ready to do this, not prepared to go rounds over this or to let it go entirely. And he knows it. Oliver takes a heavy breath, a fortifying breath, pressing his palms to his thighs. She can see the bulge of his biceps through the henley he's wearing, the strain to keep himself still evident in the tendons of his neck.

Suddenly the fact that he's just sitting there, waiting for her - as if he can somehow make this better - has livid anger ripping through her. Felicity curses under her breath and shoots into the garage, making him skitter back despite not even being close enough to touch him. She takes a dark pleasure in the startled look on his face as she shoves the car into park and gets out.

 _Good, now you know how I feel_.

"Felicity…"

"I can't right now, Oliver," she says, her voice shaking, pushing around him to get into the house. Her keys dig into her palms where she grips them in a tight, painful fist and one of them jabs her when she uses it to punch the garage door closed. The gentle whir of the garage shutting behind her sounds as she grabs the doorknob, but Oliver grabs her first. His hand closes around her elbow, pulling her back. "Damn it, Oliver," Felicity snaps, yanking her arm back. "I need a minute."

She's had a minute. She's had an _hour_. More. But that doesn't make her even remotely ready for any of this.

His frustration is obvious, as are his attempts to tamp it down - and his entire inability to do so. That only pisses her off more. _He's_ frustrated? _Really?_ How rich. Felicity lets out a huff of ironic laughter under her breath and moves to go inside, but Oliver grabs her again, his hand skating down to grab hers, his fingers lacing through hers.

"Felicity-"

She wrenches the door open before he can finish, jarring the doorframe and straining the hinges as she tries to pull her hand away from his in the same motion. But he grips her tighter, following her, refusing to let her go. It feels ironic, considering.

The door to the garage slams shut behind them, leaving them in the dark hallway. The only illumination comes from the laundry room where the half-closed dryer dimly lights up the space. Jules has been leaving it like that for months, since she discovered where her clothes come out hot and toasty, as she says.

Felicity tries to forge ahead alone, to put some distance between them, but Oliver is right at her back and she opens her mouth to tell him exactly where he can go, but…

"We need to talk about this," he says.

Oh, _that_ stops her.

Felicity blanches, wheeling around on him so fast he isn't expecting it. He loses her hand, not that it matters, because she's suddenly the one going after him as she advances on him, forcing him to step back until he runs into the laundry room jamb.

"Talk about it?" Felicity repeats, incredulity filling her voice where it echoes through the hallway. "You mean like we ' _talked'_ about it a few months ago? When that son of a bitch first appeared out of thin air? Is _that_ the conversation you want to rehash?" Oliver grits his teeth, closing his eyes as he puts his hands up, like he's trying to placate her and _oh_ , it's the wrong move. She slaps one of his hands down and his eyes snap back open, fire lighting them up. But she's not done. "I didn't think so," Felicity grits out. "Because if you'd paid attention to that conversation - if we could even _call_ it a conversation - this wouldn't be happening."

"Felicity…"

He's trying to remain calm, his breath steady, but his muscles bunch up like they're straining against inaction. But she doesn't want that, doesn't want him to hold everything in and filter his words. Because he's saying all the wrong things on top of doing the absolutely wrong thing and that he's trying to _placate her_ is making all of it worse.

"You're blowing this out of proportion," Oliver says.

"I'm…" Felicity's jaw drops, incredulity edging into her angry eyes. "How _exactly_ am I blowing this out of proportion, Oliver? I thought we'd settled this. The second he appeared, the _second_ he told you who he was, we talked about this and we decided it was a bad idea. Even Thea thought this was a bad idea. No, I'm sorry, she thought it was 'the worst idea you've ever come up with.' Do you remember that?"

"Damn it, Felicity," he breathes, turning away from her. He scrubs his face hard before pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't unders-"

"No," Felicity retorts, cutting him off. "You don't get to say that to me. I should be saying that to you, because how dare you do something like this behind my back."

"I wasn't doing it behind your back!" he growls, turning back to her.

"No?" Felicity asks, closing the distance between them. "So I found out from my husband that he sent a note to Ra's Freaking Al Ghul that he was going to be in Nanda Parbat in two days? I heard that from you?"

"I was going to tell you-"

"You should have told me the second it occurred to you, when you…" And just like that, what really happened hits her. Felicity falters, her breathing stumbling out in startled gasps. She shakes her head, staring at Oliver who sees the realization hit her at the same time. And she _knows_ what she's thinking is right because the second he sees it, he flinches, guilt and grief filling his face. And resolve. It's the last one that has her stomach twisting, has her taking a few steps back from him as she says, "You knew you were going to do this when he first arrived, didn't you? Even after we talked, after you _told me_ -"

He tries to go after her with a quiet, "Felicity-" but she slashes her hand through the air between them, cutting him off with a sharp, "No, Oliver! No, you don't… You lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you," he instantly replies. "I did not lie to you."

"Then what exactly is this?" Felicity asks, her voice rising. "What do you call this, Oliver? Because it looks like lying to me!"

"It's…" His mouth works soundlessly, because he has nothing to say. He has _nothing_. Oliver closes his eyes, his shoulders sagging. "Felicity, please-"

"Did you lie to me?" Felicity repeats. "It's a simple question, Oliver."

"I was going to tell you tonight."

Frustrated tears blur her vision and she blinks them away as she puts two and two together. "'Tell me.' Not _decide_ with me. Not work this through together. You were going to announce it after you already had everything set, after you already _committed_ to going."

Oliver buries his face in his hands, his muscles bunching, his fingertips turning white where he digs them into his skull. "Felicity-"

She ignores his plea. "Have you lost your freaking mind?"

Oliver growls something unintelligible into his palms before saying, "No," but she's already talking.

"Did you conveniently forget everything we talked about?" Felicity asks. "About Will and Jules and Ellie? About our unborn son - the one we haven't even conceived yet - or how about what you yourself said when you came from the freaking future to get your daughter? You literally _told yourself_ not to do this!" He flinches, because of course he knows, of course he remembers, and that makes it so much worse because he's doing this anyway. "God, Oliver, it's like none of our lives have even happened, it's like suddenly nothing's changed."

His own brand of confused incredulity flashes over his face. "What?"

"Why the hell do you think you told yourself not to go to Nanda Parbat? Not to make any deals with Ra's al Ghul?" Felicity asks. "Because that's what you did _then_ , what you would have done if everything hadn't changed! And yet, here you are, making the same choices, when you _know_ it's a bad idea!"

"We don't know that!" Oliver retorted, taking a powerful step towards her. It's pure intimidation, pure desperation. "You're right. Everything's changed, Felicity. _Everything_. So why not this, too?"

Those five words leave her absolutely speechless.

 _So why not this, too?_

Felicity tries to think, to move, to act, but she just… can't - _how can he not see -_ and Oliver takes advantage of it.

"Felicity, it's not…" His voice softens, his tone becoming soothing, like he's trying to calm her down, and it has a white hot rush of anger flooding her chest as he takes a step towards her. "It's not what you think. I just need a few days to see if-"

"If what?" Felicity interrupts. Annoyance crosses his face and he presses his lips into a thin line, his eyes hardening. Felicity so does not care. "If it really exists? That he just wants to do you a favor - 'hey, use my magical hot tub cure to fix your sister, it's on the house.' Tell me you're not that stupid."

"God _damn_ it, Felicity," Oliver snaps, the sharpness in his voice making her jump. "I can't… you don't know…"

He cuts himself off with a whispered curse before closing his eyes.

It's the first real sign of his own aggravation slipping through, an aggravation that's obviously been brewing since before that bastard materialized out of thin air two months ago with an offer he knew Oliver wouldn't refuse. God, how long has he been feeling like this? Emotion chokes her and Felicity sucks in a quick breath, trying to make her lungs work, but they refuse. Now that she's looking, _really_ looking, she can see the strain of his decision in every line of his body. Grief hangs off him, dragging him down, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks, the exhaustion in his shoulders. And the _guilt_ … He suddenly looks so exhausted and it only confirms how long he's been hiding this from her. That he'd made up his mind long ago. That he'd decided this for her, for his family, without consulting them.

How had she not seen it? Her mind whips back over the last few weeks - they'd been so distracted, with the kids and work and new underground gun trafficking that's been taking over the Glades and she'd just…

She hadn't seen it, but she does now.

That, and his resolve.

It's _that_ she responds to. Her own guilt is buried underneath all of it, that she hadn't seen it, that she'd assumed what they'd talked about had been enough. She can't handle that right now, because Oliver's planning on leaving the day after tomorrow and that's kind of a bigger issue at the moment.

Oliver takes a measured breath. "I've got it handled."

" _Handled_?"

"Yes," he grinds out, his eyes snapping back to her. He stares at her, trying to say everything with his eyes without actually saying it, but isn't that the problem? Have they just not been talking lately? Things have been so busy and she thought they'd already sorted this out, so she put it out of her mind… It's like he's been thinking the same thing, just the completely freaking opposite of her own thoughts. His anger suddenly melts into something else as he whispers, "Can we just… not?"

Felicity clenches her jaw, not moving.

 _Can we just not argue about this, can we just not talk about this?_

Like it's done, and he wants to not spend their last few days arguing about it.

The audacity of that simple request has more tears burning her eyes. She bites the tip of her tongue to keep them at bay. They're right back at square one. And not just square one of _this_ argument, but so much more - they were jumping years into the past, back to when he made stupid, idiotic, and rash decisions when he felt backed into a corner, when he didn't take a second to _think_ , to consider the people around him.

 _No_. No, she isn't going to let that happen again.

But before she can say anything, he's reaching for her, his face softening as he says, "I know…"

His tone is the final straw and Felicity just reacts.

With a harsh, " _God, Oliver_ ," she hurls her keys at him, as hard as she can. He could stop them, if he wanted to, but he doesn't, and they hit him square in the chest with a hard metallic smack before falling to the ground with an angry thud. She can tell it hurts like hell by the way Oliver's nostrils flare, his hands closing into tight fists as he works his jaw in anger, hard enough to make it click.

Felicity suddenly wishes she had something else to throw at him.

She wants him to explode. He's hid enough from her.

"Felicity," Oliver says, dragging her name out - _Fe-li-ci-ty._ She can _hear_ him trying to keep his cool, but he's failing.

"No," she says, her voice loud. Hurt and anger and frustration all coil together in her chest and she wants nothing more than to make him see it, to make him _feel_ it. "This is not happening, Oliver. You are not going."

"Yes," he replies, his voice low with intent. "I am."

"No, you're not. What about Jules? And Ellie? God, what about Nate and all the… _everything_ that we have going for us? What about Will? What do you want me to tell him when you disappear and he loses his father _again_. Your work, your life here, with us… with _me_ …"

He instinctively reaches for her, but this time it's him who stops it, who pulls himself back. "Felicity-"

God, he's just not _getting it_. "And what about Thea?" she asks. "Have you conveniently forgotten what she said to you?"

"I'm doing this so she can live," Oliver replies heatedly. "She and Roy deserve a real chance. All of this is so she doesn't have to suffer anymore."

"So that makes the fact that you're doing it behind her back - behind _my_ back - better? You think this is what she wants? You really think she wants to live the rest of her life knowing what you gave up for her?"

Pain slashes over his face. "You don't-"

"And what price are you going to have to pay so that will happen?" Felicity asks. "Have you even thought about that?"

"Of course I have!" Oliver snaps.

"And what if it's your _life_ you have to give up, Oliver?" Felicity waves her hands at the house, at their lives. "What about the price _we_ have to pay just because you've decided we do? What if it's all this, the life we've built together, or the kids-"

"It won't be."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do!" Oliver growls. "I would never do that to you or our children, Felicity, _never._ You, Jules, Ellie, Will… Thea…" His voice cracks, emotion strangling him. "You are my _world,_ Felicity, my entire world, and if there is ever something I can do to fix or heal or make better, I will do it in a goddamn heartbeat, every single time."

Pain cuts through his eyes, deep enough that even she can feel it. It's enough to make her pause as the air between them shifts, as Oliver shakes his head, turning away from her. He walks a few paces until he reaches the washer and dryer. His hands land on each of them with heavy thuds before he leans in, like he's so desperately looking for something to help carry the load… but he's also not willing to ask for the help, not this time.

That reality hurts almost as much the agony carving its way through him.

"It kills me that I can't do anything for her," he says, his voice so low she can barely hear it where he's facing the wall. "That I have to sit back and watch her deal with this, this… this disease eating her from the inside. Especially when it's my fault," he adds on a whisper.

"Oliver, no," Felicity gasps. "That is _not_ what happened-"

"It is," he cuts in definitively, turning to face her. "Slade happened. Isabel happened. It's all of because of me. I get… I have this amazing life, Felicity, with you, with Will, with our girls… It's a life I never thought I would get, not _ever_ , but I got it. I got my happy ending, and what does she have? Why is she the one who has to pay the price for my sins?" He bites the tip of his tongue, and Felicity can see his resolve growing steadier. "I should be the one to fix it. To make it right. To give her back her life. And now we have a real lead on something that can actually do it and… I have to try."

Of course he does. That's who he is. That's who he's always been, the man she loves, the man who is willing to do everything and anything for the ones he cares for. It's a loyalty that is cell-deep when it comes to his family, but it doesn't end there; it includes the entire city. Of course she knows why he's doing this… but she also knows why he absolutely can't.

"No matter what the cost, right?" she whispers. Oliver flinches, averting his eyes before turning away from her again. Felicity frowns. "You already know the cost, don't you? He already told you what he wants in exchange for Thea's life."

A long moment passes before he finally answers, "He wants the Arrow."

"The…" Felicity shakes her head, trying to make sense of it. "The Arrow? Like… like joining-the-League-of-Assassins wants the Arrow?"

His silence is answer enough.

Blood rushes through her ears, her heart slamming into her chest plate. Her hands start shaking, the world starting to slant as what he's saying sinks in.

He'd be gone.

 _Forever._

"No," Felicity whispers. "No, that's not going to happen. No. _No_." She's advancing on him before she knows what she's doing. Felicity grabs the back of his shirt, pulling on it. He hisses when the material rips across his skin, but she doesn't stop, grabbing his arm, yanking on it _hard_. It's like a feather trying to move a building, but he gives in without a fight, letting her turn him around. He looks at the ground and Felicity grabs his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You can't do that."

"It's the only way," he replies softly, his hands coming up to cover hers. The second they do, though, the instant she feels his fingers closing in around hers, she yanks her hands back. Her nails scrape painfully through his stubble, making him wince as she glares at him.

"The only way is to leave your family?" she demands.

The question triggers something inside him because anger suddenly floods his face as he fires back, "I am not leaving you," he fires back. "I will never leave you, Felicity, or our family. I'll find a way home. I'm taking care of it."

"What the hell does that mean?" Felicity asked. "What, like you're taking care of Thea?" He grits his teeth, turning away from her, but she follows him, shoving herself between him and the dryer. "Is that what you mean?"

"Damn it, Felicity," he growls, turning away from her again but before he can escape the room, she grabs his shirt again, yanking him back. This time he yanks back, though, spinning hard enough that she loses her grip. "I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Then why did you hide it from me?"

"I didn't hide it!" Oliver snaps. "Fu… Just…"

He spins away again and Felicity follows him, getting in front of him so he can't leave. His hands come up like he wants to pick her up and move her out of the way, but he doesn't, gritting his teeth instead. It pisses her off. She _wants_ him to snap, to lose it, to let go, because then maybe he'd see that he was on his way to a suicide mission.

"Move," Oliver says.

"No," Felicity replies. He growls her name and it only makes her shove on his chest. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk. And I don't mean trying to make me be okay about the decision you've already made, because I won't _ever_ be okay with it!"

"Then there's nothing else to talk about."

Anger flares in her chest. "Oh, actually there is," Felicity says. "How would you feel if it was me doing this? If I was making life-changing decisions behind your back-"

"Would you stop saying that, I didn't do it behind your goddamned back!"

She ignores him. "And I decided to disregard my sister's wishes and did exactly what she told me not to do-"

" _Felicity._ "

"And I went to Nanda Parbat to make a deal with the devil over something that we don't even know will work." She stares at him, daring him to say anything to the contrary. "Would you be okay with that, Oliver? Would you be okay with me sacrificing myself, knowing I might never come home, that I might never get to see you again, or tuck my children in bed, or hug my sister, or-"

Oliver curses, his voice echoing in the small room, and this time he doesn't stop himself from gripping her shoulders and literally lifting her off her feet, setting her out of the way. Felicity tries to get in front of him again, but he dodges her, stalking down the hallway.

"I'm going with you!" she shouts after him, and that has Oliver stopping dead in his tracks. He freezes, a preternaturally still shadow in the looming light coming from the living room, but he doesn't turn around. Felicity glares at his back, her voice shaking with vehemence as she says, "If I can't stop you, then you are not doing this alone. And if you think for even one second that I'm not going to go up to that son of a bitch myself and tell him to shove his offer up his ass-"

"No," Oliver growls, turning around without warning. He stalks back towards her and she falters, his height and bulk suddenly filling the space. He's all fury as he closes in on her. "You are going nowhere _near_ that man."

The demand in his voice enrages her.

"Oh, yes I am," Felicity shoots back, closing the distance that's left between them. She pokes his chest, but it isn't enough so she slams her palms into him, but he barely budges. "I love you, Oliver. I love you so much it hurts, so much that I can't even stand it sometimes, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth and if you don't know that by now then I don't know what to tell you-"

"Felicity…" His voice cracks with anger, but also with love, her words touching on something deep inside him. A flicker of doubt pierces through the resolve, but it's gone a quick second later. "No," Oliver says, shaking his head. "No, you're not going. This man is _dangerous_ -"

"God, Oliver," Felicity snaps, making fists like she's going to pound on him, but she can't make them connect as tears blur her vision. "That's the whole point!"

"I can't lose you, Felicity!" he yells. "I can't… I'm already losing Thea and I cannot lose you. I _won't_!"

"So you think it's better that I lose you?" she fires back, her heart breaking for him, especially when he flinches at her words, but she doesn't back down. "Because I don't!" she continues. "You can't lose me, Oliver? I can't lose _you_. I can't! I can't do it, and I can't let you do this. You are the father of my children, but you're also the love of my life. I love you more than _anything_ , Oliver Jonas Queen, _anything_ , and if you think I'm going to just stand by and let you-"

Felicity doesn't see him move.

He's a blur of movement, standing before her one second and the next grabbing her face, his lips slanting over hers in a demanding kiss.

Oliver swallows her startled gasp, taking advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss. It stuns her, but she's quick to react, all the anger and turmoil and _love_ for this infuriating man suddenly morphing into something far more carnal, something that crashes into her with an alacrity that takes her breath away.

God, she needs him, _now._ Always. Next week and next year and in twenty years, but especially now.

Felicity kisses him back with a desperate groan, grabbing his shirt in tight fists, yanking him down closer to her. She pours every ounce of frustration and anger at him into the kiss, every bit of love and devotion she feels for him, giving him every single inch of everything she is, because she always has, and she always will. Because she will do everything for this man, including walking to the edge of an abyss, if only so that he won't have to do it alone.

The kiss is all-consuming, a heady mixture of need and love and anger that has it morphing into something more forceful, bruising. It's a culmination of their fight, of their disagreement, but also of the last few weeks since this first came up, and even the frustrated months before that.

She can't remember the last time she'd felt _this_ need, the kind that burns her from the inside out, that leaves her craving nothing else but touching him, feeling him.

It fuels the emotion erupting between them, amplifying the already-explosive tension.

Nothing's resolved, nothing has been fixed or decided, but at the same time this _fits_. They need this, they need to let go, to remind themselves of what they're saying, what they're fighting for… what they'd be losing.

Oliver kisses her even harder, biting her lip, angling his head to get more, to take more, and she returns it just as readily. His fingers dig into her face, his callused palms deliciously rough against her cheeks, sending sparks of want raining through her. Felicity pulls on his shirt hard, pulling on him before winding her arms around his neck, curling a leg around his.

Her lungs burn for oxygen, and she pulls away with a ragged moan, inhaling sharply, but she needs him too much. She can't stop. Her lips find his again and he attacks her with the same urgency, feeling the same desperation that has her clinging to him.

Oliver pushes her backwards, one hand flying out to find the doorjamb to the laundry room, just in time to keep her from crashing into it. They stumble, nearly falling to the side when he tries to push her up against it. Normally it'd be something they'd stop to laugh about, to treasure, to revel in because while they haven't exactly been making the time lately, they still give each other everything when they find moments between just the two of them… But this isn't that. It's nowhere _close_ to that.

With a growl, Oliver spins them further into the room, pushing her up against the washer with enough force to make it rock. Neither of them notice as they cling to each other, their gasps filling the small room, their lips brushing together between kisses, breathing each other's air.

Not wasting a second, Oliver's hands drop to her waist and he lifts her like she weighs nothing at all, setting her down on the washer gracelessly. It's cold against her heated thighs, making her gasp. He covers her lips at the sound, surging forward, making more of her flesh touch the cold metal. Felicity instantly spreads her legs, wrapping them around him, tugging him close, her skirt falling open. Oliver grasps her hips, pulling her closer to the edge, sending a harsh burn across the back of her thighs where her skin drags against the washer.

"Ah!" Felicity whines, digging her nails into him. Oliver pauses, pulling back, his lips already forming the words to ask if she's okay, but Felicity shakes her head with a rasped, "No, don't stop," before pulling his lips back to hers.

He doesn't.

Their movements are harsh and uneven as Oliver pushes her skirt up to her waist, his fingers digging into her hips, underneath the band of her panties as her hands drop to his belt. Her fingers are shaking with emotions she can barely comprehend as she yanks it open before her fingers find the button and zipper.

It's fast, urgent, and the second she has his pants undone, she shoves them down his hips along with his briefs. His hardness comes free between them, standing tall at the same time Oliver hooks his fingers in her panties and tugs them out of the way, exposing her already-wet sex.

They don't make time to make sure she's ready or they're both on the same page, there isn't room for that.

Felicity reaches between them and grasps him, earning a breathless whine from him and a jerk of his hips when she squeezes him tightly. Oliver wraps himself around her, one hand cupping her cheek, his fingers digging in painfully while the other grabs her hip.

The instant he's at her entrance, he thrusts inside her, hard and fast, filling her completely.

"Oh _god_ ," Felicity cries. She slips one hand around to his ass, pushing the other into his hair where she makes a tight fist. He gasps her name, his voice laced with pain and need and love, and she nods, pushing her face against his, searching for his lips as he pulls out and thrusts back in, just as hard, just as painful. Felicity keens his name, digging her nails into his backside, needing more, so much more…

He gives it to her, because he needs it just as badly, needs her just as much.

"Felicity," he hisses against her mouth, gripping her tight as he thrusts into her, his pelvis slapping against hers. His lips cover hers again, but it does nothing to muffle their cries of pleasure, their need to be as connected as possible. He thrusts harder… and harder… filling her… drowning her in sensation… But when he pulls out too far on one thrust, her panties get in the way. He groans a harsh, " _Fuck_ ," before stopping.

"Wait," Felicity gasps as Oliver pulls back just enough to reach between them and under her skirt. She frowns, her brain trying to make sense of what he's doing, some part of her registering it but the rest of her still caught up in why he'd stopped moving. "Oliver, what…?"

"These…" Oliver snarls before he grabs her wet panties where they're still on her and rips them down the center.

Felicity jerks in surprise, a startled, "Oh," slipping out. He twists the pieces around her so they're out of the way before grabbing her hips with bruising force, pulling out and thrusting home with enough force to make the entire washer move, his pleasure-laced cry echoing hers.

It all happens fast, too fast for her to keep up, but she's not complaining. He's letting go, he's doing exactly what she wanted him to do, and it's just so _right_.

He hammers into her and Felicity whimpers, scrambling to hold onto him, pain blossoming at the force of his thrusts. But pleasure is right there with it, white hot, deep in her core, searing through her. Felicity shudders, her hips moving to meet his, her legs tightening around him, one of her heels falling off. The thought of him going deeper, as deep as he can, being so connected with her that she can't tell where he begins and she ends, pushes her higher, the thought desperately erotic and perfect.

Oliver slams into her, over and over, his face a mixture of lust and frustration and anger, but underneath it all is the bright light of his love, of the person he is at his very core, shining through.

"Yes…" she whispers, cupping the back of his head, pulling him closer. " _Oliver._ Yes."

She needs more, so much more, she needs _all_ of him and in return, she gives him everything she is. And he takes it, almost greedily, almost as readily as he gives her his all. It's all their love for each other, all their years together, all the obstacles they've overcome, all the things they've experienced, it all comes together right now, a bone-deep recognition building between them just as quickly as their pleasure.

"Oh god," Oliver chokes out, holding her tighter, his voice dropping into a desperate whine as he thrusts faster. He's trembling - or maybe she is, she can't tell - and she holds him, whispering nonsensically as he gasps, "Felicity…"

He's close, she can feel it in the way he jerks against her, the way his arms start to shake. Felicity wraps her arm around his shoulders, shoving her forehead against his as she pushes her other hand between them to find her clit. She wants to come with him, she needs to. The second she touches it, pleasure slices through her, so sharp it hurts. Felicity cries out, digging her nails into the back of his head as she starts rubbing herself. Pleasure coils deep inside her, all her nerves growing taut with anticipation as she soars higher, joining him. Oliver groans her name, his hips faltering for a second as he looks down. But he catches himself. He wraps his arm around her, grabbing her ass, keeping her stationary as he places his hand over hers, their fingers lacing together right where she needs them.

"Ooh!" Felicity yelps, his rough fingers on her wet clit rubbing in tight circles with her soft ones as he thrusts deeper, harder… "Yes, yes… yes, oh god, oh god!"

Oliver's lips cover hers just as her orgasm hits.

A sheet of white skates over her eyes, blinding her to everything but _him_. He's everywhere, surrounding her, and she surrenders completely. Their fingers still work together as pleasure crashes through her, her silken walls clamping down around him, sucking him in deeper, her cries suddenly growing louder when she pulls back from Oliver enough to gasp for air.

Her sobs push him over the edge, and a second later Oliver comes. His loud cries echo out of the small laundry room, mixing in with his gasps as he keeps thrusting, spilling everything he is into her… and then he suddenly wraps her up in his arms and thrusts one last time, as deep as he can, triggering one more small orgasm that makes the soles of Felicity's feet tingle.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Nothing was fixed, or even discussed really. No, they'd just been yelling and suddenly they were kissing and…

And nothing was resolved. And they're both very aware of it.

It's a long moment before they finally untangle from each other.

Oliver pulls out of her with a soft gasp, one she echoes at the emptiness she'll never get used to after having him inside her. He tucks himself back into his briefs, pulling his pants up as Felicity silently kicks off her remaining heel before hopping off the washer. Her legs are unsteady and she grips the edge of the large machine just as Oliver reaches for her, his fingers grazing her waist.

The second he touches her, the invisible wall that'd reappeared evaporates all over again.

"Oliver," Felicity breathes, her voice cracking and his face crumbles.

They move at the same time, wrapping around each other as tightly as they can.

Oliver buries his face in her shoulder, inhaling deeply as Felicity presses her face into his neck, hugging him with everything she has. The weight of what they'd been fighting about, about what it is that they will have to face, it hits her all at once and she shudders, clinging to him.

But as long as they stick together, they will get through it. They've conquered so much, been through so much, but if there's one thing she can say with confidence, it's that if they stick together, they can do anything.

Including this.

"Don't go," she says. The words are so quiet, barely audible, but he catches them. Oliver stiffens, and she holds him tighter, in case he wants to pull away. "Please. Just… I know you feel like you have to, Oliver, but please… _please_ …"

Silence falls over them, a heavy pressure that makes her ears hurt as she waits. He's frozen in her arms, his muscles tense, and she can't tell what he's about to do, not without looking at his face, but she doesn't dare pull away, not yet.

His breath suddenly catches, and then he deflates.

Something wet falls on her neck, and it takes her a second to realize it's a tear when Oliver whispers, "I don't know what to do, Felicity."

Felicity's face crinkles with her own tears at the sadness in his voice, how broken he sounds. One slips down her cheek as she holds him closer, kissing the side of his neck. "I know," she replies, another tear falling, just as another one of his hits her neck again, his shoulders starting to tremble. "But we'll figure it out. I promise. I promise."

Oliver takes a shaky breath and she wonders if he's going to fight her on it again, if he's going to pull away after a second and stand firm in his resolve… but he doesn't. Oh, thank god he doesn't. Instead he goes the opposite way, and it's all the answer she needs right now. He wraps himself more fully around her, leaning into her so much she nearly falls. But she stands tall, taking all of the weight he's sharing with her, sharing the burden with him.

"We'll figure it out," Felicity whispers, stroking the back of his neck, holding him up. "We will."

He finally nods, giving her a shuddery breath as more tears fall, as he holds onto her and lets go of everything else.

Silent tears dissolve into quiet sobs.

He cries for what he was going to do, what he wants to do, what he's losing…

But also for what he's getting to keep.


	37. May 2015

**May 2015**

All the baby websites say that Jules shouldn't be rolling over or sitting for at least another month, but they clearly underestimated Julianna Queen. When their infant sets her mind to something, there's no dissuading her. Oliver figured that out about his baby girl pretty much instantly. She's _stubborn_. And, while he's sure that'll be a little less endearing when she's going through the terrible twos or when she's a teenager, it's absolutely adorable right now.

He gets back from patrol - a light one, low risk, as it's their first one back in months - to find his baby camped out in the 'pack-and-play' his mother had bought for the lair. She's on her belly making frustrated little grunting noises as she reaches for the many toys she's tossed out of her own reach. Her little brow is furrowed as she focuses intently on her goal - a bright red teething toy shaped like an apple.

Felicity hasn't noticed his arrival yet - though she surely knows he'll be back any minute now and that Digg and Lyla have already gone home for the night. She still has her eyes locked on the computer screen and she's talking in a soothing voice at Jules as her fingers fly over the keys.

"..and that's how you execute a DoS attack, Julie-bug. The servers overload and go 'BOOM.' Not in like, the physical sense. There's no explosions, except the data kind. You know what? I'm gonna just explain this better when you're a little older. Maybe we work on mastering you saying a word first, okay? I am gonna suggest 'mama' but you go ahead and pick. Totally your choice."

She sounds like herself, like the woman he fell in love with a year ago. Or... okay, more than a year ago, quite honestly, but that was when everything had come to light. A year ago today, in this very spot, a tiny little girl with his eyes, soft blonde curls, and a smile that could light up his whole life changed absolutely everything. It's been full of ups and downs since then. Having Jules and losing Ellie. Meeting his son and watching his sister cope with what was done to her by Slade and Isabel. Building a life together with the woman he loves and watching her struggle with crippling depression after their first daughter was born. Life isn't perfect. It can't be. But he loves where he's at these days and he has hope for the future, which is a whole lot more than he could have said not all that long ago.

The marked improvement in Felicity's spirits over the last week have helped _a lot_. There's no quick-fix for mental illness - not any more than there is for physical injuries and he knows full well how long that kind of recovery time can take - but she's finally on the right path. And knowing that, _seeing_ it, feels like it's healed something in him, too. He'd _missed_ her when things were at their worst. It had felt like she wasn't even there and he hadn't understood at all what was going on. But now… now that he knows, now that she's finally doing better, it's like she's come home, come back to him, and he's so grateful that he just stops and stares and lets it wash over him sometimes.

Like now.

Like this very moment while she coos about coding to their not-quite-four-month-old as she finishes up the tail end of today's mission for Team Arrow.

Except for their baby girl and the pack-and-play, it could be a year ago, two years ago. He's still the Arrow and she's still watching over him, guiding him through his journey and supporting him. They're still _them_. They're just also better.

"Just one more minute, Julie-bug," Felicity promises, making a slight huff of annoyance as she does something Oliver can't begin to understand on the computer. "They've got a backup DNS, sneaky buggers, but mommy's got this taken care of."

Their daughter's patience is about at the end of its rope, though, and she has no interest in waiting for her mother to be done. The baby is quickly turning red faced with frustration and working herself up. Oliver can practically hear the coming wail of annoyance. So, he sets his bow down and heads over to the makeshift crib, scooping up both Jules and the teething toy. She settles immediately, stuffing the toy into her mouth and gumming at it fiercely. She has yet to cut her first tooth, but based on the way she's gnawing on the teething toy, Oliver's pretty sure that's coming up sooner rather than later. After a moment, she pauses and looks up at him. As if realizing for the first time who is holding her, her face splits into a huge, drooly grin and she reaches with her free hand for his mask.

She hasn't seen him in it before - he and Felicity haven't been back in action until today - but it seems like she thinks they're playing a tremendous game of peek-a-boo. Her little fingers slip behind the edge of his mask and pull it down. She lets loose a riotous laugh when she sees the familiar face of her father revealed from behind the strip of fabric and she tries to put it back and play the game again.

It figures.

The whole city hadn't known him with little more of a disguise than a hood pulled low and some grease paint, but his little girl knows him on sight at all of three-and-a-half months old. She's clever, perceptive. She's her mother's daughter and she takes his breath away from him every day, in a million different ways.

"Are we playing a game?" he asks her as she pulls with all her might against his mask. Her nails scrape at his cheek - they're small, surprisingly sharp little things; he'll need to cut them soon - but that's the only battle wound he's gotten today and he can't mind because his little girl is just reaching for him. He pulls her hand away and kisses her fingers before pressing his nose to her neck and leaving noisy kisses that send her giggling again. He hasn't had much exposure to babies since Thea was an infant, but he's quickly found that he loves this stage of babyhood his daughter's in. Her increasing awareness and interactiveness every day makes it seem like every single moment deepens the bond between them.

Laughter or not, she isn't distracted from her teething toy for long and she whines a little, pushing his face away with her baby claws before stuffing the cold, squishy plastic apple back into her mouth. There's a frustrated whimper from her as she gnaws furiously and rests her head against his shoulder. Poor little thing. They should keep some baby tylenol in the lair, he decides. Their medicine cabinet clearly isn't stocked for infants and, even with all the injuries he's sustained over the years, he finds he can't stand the sight of his little girl suffering the pain of cutting a tooth.

"I've got you, sweet girl," he tells her quietly as she looks up at him. She's drooling on his jacket, but he doesn't even pause to wipe it off. "You're okay, Julie-bug."

She reaches up for his face again, little fingers gripping his mask and pulling it clean off. Obviously, the fun of peek-a-boo is gone and she is no longer a fan of her father's face being obstructed.

That… or she wanted a new teething toy.

His mask winds up stuffed in her mouth before he can stop her, drool running down the strip of fabric. Of all the ways he's considered being unmasked, exposure by teething toddler had never been one of them.

"Is that tasty?" he asks her, trying to pry it away from her but giving up the moment she protests with a noisy grunt of annoyance. It's not worth it. She's not gonna hurt herself and his mask will recover. If she gets a bit of comfort from it right now, that's fine by him. "It doesn't look tasty to me, Julie-bug."

She clearly disagrees, gumming at the strap as hard as she can as she stares back at him with those wide blue guileless eyes of hers.

" _Oh_ , that can't possibly be good for her, can it?" Felicity asks, drawing Oliver's attention to his girlfriend. She's just a few feet away, wincing at the way Jules is making a mess of his mask. "Or for your mask, for that matter. I mean, infant-sized gum-prints might be a bit of a giveaway. We don't really want the city realizing that their superhero is a superdad too, do we?"

"Probably not," he admits, his heart surging a bit at being called a 'superdad.' He's not sure that's a title he deserves yet, but he'll keep striving to earn it. His kids deserve that from him and he refuses to let them down. "But, even if it isn't the best idea, there's a part of me that wouldn't mind. I'm _always_ gonna be proud to be her dad. And to be your partner. That's true whether I'm wearing a mask or not. It always will be."

" _Oh_ ," Felicity says. Her eyes water up and she presses a hand to her mouth, obviously affected by his words. That happens easily these days. They're still fine-tuning the medications and, at times, she's a touch _over-_ emotional, but he'll take that any day over the vacant looks she'd been giving everyone all the time just a month ago. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, fanning her face as she tries to keep herself from crying.

"You don't have to apologize to me, Felicity," he tells her gently, soothing a hand up and down her upper arm. "Not for how you feel. Not ever."

"I know," she nods. It's too fast and overly forceful, like she can't stop herself, but he just smiles and pulls her closer, sandwiching Jules between them as he holds on to his little family. "I know," she says again. "I just… when you say things like that…"

He waits for her to continue, but she doesn't. He pulls back a little to see her visibly working to hold in whatever else she'd been going to say.

"'When I say things like that' what?" he prompts.

She loses the war against her own words a moment later, blurting out "When you say things like that I just really want to marry you, okay?"

Oliver freezes, blinking at her like he's sure he heard her wrong as his heart races with an adrenaline-fueled thrill. "What?" he asks in a barely-spoken, breathy question.

"I'm sorry," she scrambles, trying to step back. He can't find words, but he holds her tighter. "Or, not sorry, because you like _just_ told me not to apologize. But things are good. They're _great_. I don't mean to be pushing or making you feel like this isn't enough. It is. It _totally_ is. And I told myself I wouldn't bring it up for at least another year, because even if we have a daughter and we're living together, it's not like we've been together _that_ long and I-"

"You think you're pushing _me_?" he asks in astonishment, because that's the part his mind is stuck on.

"I… yes?" she asks, sounding wildly uncertain all of a sudden. "I mean… you haven't brought it up at all and I just figured, when you were ready, that'd be a thing we'd… you know, have a conversation about."

He wonders if he looks as slack-jawed as he feels.

"Julie, baby, I'm putting you down for a minute," he tells the infant before placing her back in the pack-and-play. She doesn't protest, probably because he leaves her the mask to keep chewing on.

"Oliver…" Felicity says, swallowing heavily and looking a little ashen. "We don't have to talk about-"

"Hold that thought," he tells her. "Please, honey, just… give me two minutes. Okay? Just two minutes."

If this is where and how they're having this conversation, he's at least going to get this part right. She nods, looking completely uncertain and more than ready to start panicking, so he hurries as much as he can, running across the lair to where he left his jacket and rifling through the inside pockets before pulling out a small ring box and heading back over toward the love of his life.

"Felicity," he says, taking a steadying breath once he's finally in front of her. He lowers himself to one knee, right next to where Jules is noisily chewing away with the whir of Felicity's computers in the background and his bow a few feet to the side. This isn't what he'd planned. It's not even close, but suddenly he can't imagine anything better.

"... _Oh_ …" Felicity breathes out, staring down at him owlishly as he takes her hand in his.

"You told me once that I love with my entire heart and that what other people thought didn't matter because _you_ knew the truth and Ellie knew the truth," he tells her, running his fingers over her knuckles. "Do you remember that?"

"Yes," she says. Her voice breaks and she stops to clear her throat. "That was right before you had to lie to the press and tell them you weren't Ellie's father."

"It was," he agrees with her. "I'd been in love with you for a whole lot longer than I'd been willing to admit before that. And, because of the way our lives have gone, we both knew what kind of future we could have together. But that was the moment I knew I wanted to marry you, Felicity. And I've felt that way every single day since then."

Her fingers shake in his a little - or maybe that's him… he can't be sure - and her eyes water up as she sniffles, but she holds his gaze as she nods and he takes that as a cue to keep going.

"I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to have you in my life, for the family we've started to build together. You gave me a daughter and took my son into your heart like he was your own. You look at me and you see the best parts of who I am. And you make me see those parts, too. You help me believe in myself," he tells her. "Even when things are dark, even when they're… even when they're unimaginably hard, you're right there at my side and I know we'll get through whatever it is because we have each other. And I want to feel like that for the rest of my life, to know that whatever the future brings, we'll have each other share the good times and the bad."

" _Yes_ ," she whispers, nodding and trying not to cry. She fails at that, a steady stream of tears spilling down her cheeks.

It's one of the most exciting moments on his life - right up there with the birth of his daughter and the day he met his son - but he hasn't actually asked her yet. And he's not going to let the question go unspoken.

"Felicity Smoak," he starts, a tremendous smile completely overtaking his face. He hasn't even asked the question yet and he already knows the answer. "Will you make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife?"

She practically knocks him over as she crashes to her knees in front of him and kisses him furiously, breathing ' _yes'_ against his mouth between every press of her lips to his. His heart is so light, so joyful that he feels like he could fly. He grips the little box, still unopened, in his hand as he holds onto his fiancee - god, but that sounds good, his _fiancee_ \- and kisses her back with all of the adoration and gratefulness that lives inside him. He could hold onto her forever. He intends to, actually. Though… maybe a little less literally than right now, something that becomes intensely obvious when Jules makes a loud noise of protest at being left out of whatever's going on.

"Just a minute, baby girl," Felicity tells their daughter, pressing her forehead to Oliver's and looking slightly to the side. "Just let mommy and daddy enjoy this for a second, okay?"

"I'm going to enjoy it for a whole lot longer than a second," Oliver replies, bracing his free hand against her back with his fingers splayed wide as he rubs the side of his nose gently against hers.

"Me too," she agrees softly, leaning into him.

"Do you want to see the ring?" he asks.

"I'd marry you if it were made out of an ethernet cable, Oliver," she laughs.

"That'd make a hell of a conversation piece at parties," he chuckles. "Can you imagine the paparazzi?"

She wrinkles her nose up at that, leaning back slightly, but brushing her fingers up and down the sides of his neck like she can't stand to stop touching him. He gets that. He feels much the same.

"They can think what they want, Oliver," she tells him. "I've never cared about that."

"I know," he agrees. "But I'd still like my wife to wear something… a bit more exceptional."

"Well… I mean, I'm not opposed to a bit of bling," she grins, her eyes sparkling as she looks at him. "And now you've piqued my curiosity."

It's silly that he's nervous about this. She's already said yes, after all. But he really, really wants her to like the ring he picked out all those months ago. Or… well, he'd _sort of_ picked it out months ago. There's a lot more that's gone into her ring than that.

"Do you remember last summer when I went to meet with my lawyers about the trusts we set up for Jules and Will?" he asks, swallowing hard and licking his lips.

"Sure," she agrees readily, but clearly not seeing exactly where he's going with this yet. "I went with a few times. There was a lot more involved than I'd thought."

"There was," he agrees. "And one of the times you weren't there, the lawyers were going over the Queen family assets we've got stored away in safety deposit boxes."

Felicity's mouth drops into the cutest little 'O' shape he's ever seen. She clearly thinks she knows where this is going. He's pretty sure she'd be half right.

"I'd already been thinking about the kind of ring I wanted to get you," he tells her. "None of the ones my family owned already were quite right." She chews her lip and, if he's not mistaken, looks a touch disappointed. He hopes he can more than make up for that, though. "But some of the stones were."

"...What?" she asks, blinking at him in bewilderment.

"Felicity, we're forging our own family together," he says, brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear. "My history is part of that, but it's not all of it and it didn't feel right giving you something that was just tradition with no bits of _us_ involved." He breathes out a steadying exhale and cracks open the box so she can see the ring. Her eyes go beautifully wide at the sight before her. "This has gems from both of my grandmothers' engagement rings, but I made the rest of it myself."

"You _made this_?" she asks, astonishment seeping through the cracks in her voice. "Oh my god, Oliver…"

He knows his work was good. He'd gone to a jeweler after finishing, getting their help in smoothing out the rough edges and cleaning it up a bit. But the design, the labor, that's all his. And he's intensely proud of everything he's put into it and all that symbolizes.

"Yeah," he agrees, taking the ring from its pillow and discarding the box on the floor as he slips the band on her finger. "No one else knows all the parts of who we are to each other, Felicity. How could they possibly make a ring that encompasses all of us?"

"Oh my god," she breathes out again, staring at her finger. "Is this…?" she starts, pointing at the band itself instead of the diamonds.

"I melted down an arrowhead for the metal," he says, proud to confirm her suspicions. "You're not just marrying Oliver Queen. You're marrying the Arrow, too."

She rolls her eyes at that. "You're actually one person, Oliver," she tells him.

"That's my point," he replies, grinning. "That's why all of those parts of me needed to be included in one ring. Because you see all of me. Because you accept all of me. I wanted this to symbolize that for us."

"Oliver Queen… you are something else," she murmurs in astonishment.

"So you like it?" he asks. She does. He can see that, but nerves surge up because she hasn't actually _said_ it yet.

"I love it," she tells him, taking his face in both of her hands and locking eyes with him. "And I love you. All of you. Always."

There are a lot of times he hasn't been able to believe quite how lucky he is, but this takes the cake and he's a little overwhelmed at the rush of emotion surging through him.

A loud, insistent cry from the side breaks through the moment of silence, a clear sign that Jules' patience has reached its end and she wants to make her presence known.

"Your baby girl is telling you she loves you always, too, I think," Felicity says, smiling hugely as she looks to Jules and stands up to retrieve the fussy infant who obviously does not want to be left out of whatever is going on. "Aren't you, Julie-bug? You love your daddy, don't you?"

She blows bubbles at her mother in response, but Felicity just laughs and sits back down next to Oliver with their daughter balanced in a mostly-sitting position against the crook of her knee, so that she can see them both.

This isn't the beginning of anything. Not really. They're already a family, already partners and parents. But it's a stepping stone in their lives - a big one - and Oliver's more than thrilled with the direction they're headed. Together.


	38. October 2033

Author's Note - Warnings for flashbacks to the kidnapping including verbal and physical torture of teenage minors. This also needs a warning for self-destructive behavior including drug and alcohol use by a minor.

 **October 2033**

It would be a mistake to think that Jules felt guilty, exactly. That's in there, of course, buried beneath the roiling storm of hurt and frustration that lives at the surface these days. But empathy and regret are the sort of feelings she shoves down, now. They make her weak.

She feels like a fool for ever believing things could be different, for daring to hope all of her instincts about her family had been wrong, for _showing_ how much she wanted that.

The illusion of belonging, of happiness, had been so strong, so _believable_. It makes her life now that much worse. It hurts more than before and she loathes that she's given anyone that much power over her.

It's unbelievable to her that they swear she's wrong, that her parents can stand in front of her and act like nothing's changed, like she's imagining things, like she's wanted. But she remembers that day with a vibrancy that takes her breath away.

She and Ellie both had been taken. They'd both spent the most terrifying day imaginable chained to the floor of a dingy warehouse, held captive by a madman from another time, another universe, someone who'd known far too much about them and known exactly how to hurt them using truth and knives.

Scars from that day linger, even a year later. They'll last forever. How can they not? For Ellie, that means a silvery mark of freshly knit-together flesh that mars her neck. For Jules… for Jules the wound isn't nearly as healed and it's far less visible.

Being rescued had taken forever. Or, at least, it had felt like it at the time. For hours, she'd done everything she could think of to distract the kidnapper from hurting Ellie. She'd taunted and insulted him, challenged him until he'd turned on her, leaving Ellie bleeding and crying and begging him to leave her big sister alone.

The two of them were both so self-sacrificing. Neither of them had really come out of the experience all that well.

" _You...the extra girl_." Jules can still hear his mocking tone ringing in her ears. " _I had almost forgotten you even existed, Extra Girl. It's amazing how unnecessary you really are, how happy your family is in that other world, without you_."

She's always wondered about them, her family's mirror image in that other reality where she was never even born. Are they happy? Are they _happier_? Are they better off without her? Do they feel like something's missing? The questions have always lingered in the back of her head, so her captor's words had hit her hard, the first crack in the base of a foundation she'd so freshly built and a sign of the crumbling that would soon follow.

" _You'll see_ ," he'd promised, looking down on her through that hollow-eyed full-face mask with a dismissive sympathy. " _It was always about her, you silly girl. You're a background player in her story. And you know it. And so does everyone else._ "

She'd spat at him then, left a wet trail sliding down the hard plastic covering his face. But he'd been wholly unfazed, using a finger to swipe up a tear off of her cheek that she hadn't even realized she'd shed.

" _No_ ," Ellie had muttered, distant and uncoordinated. Even with the bolt of uncertainty that'd struck Jules, she'd been terrified at the dim, slurred voice of her little sister and the way she'd slumped against the wall. The blood from her neck wound had pooled on the concrete floor beneath them, spreading quickly in Jules' direction. It was big. Too big. Too much. She hadn't been able to breathe for the implications.

Neither of them are strangers to what a dangerous amount of blood-loss looks like at this point.

" _Even now, she's playing the hero,"_ he'd continued, pushing Ellie's face away as he crouched between them. Ellie had whimpered in pain and the noise had jolted Jules into action, leaving her kicking and reaching toward the masked monster between them, driven by nothing more than the desperate need to act, to save her sister, to stop this. " _Tisk, tisk, Extra Girl. Stop flailing around. I thought we'd established this? The hero role is taken by your perfect little miracle of a sister. What kind of role does that leave you, I wonder? If it leaves you any at all._ "

" _Go to hell_ ," she'd snapped, absent any kind of coherent response.

" _Undoubtedly,_ " he'd replied, standing fully and looking down at her. " _But where do you go? Little girl who shouldn't even exist, an anomaly her parents never needed. Maybe you can be your sister's sidekick… presuming you both survive this, which I wouldn't bank on. If not… well, there's cannon-fodder in every hero's story, isn't there? And it's not like you'd be missed."_

" _Why are you doing this?_ " she'd demanded, barely able to look past his leg to see Ellie's labored breathing and frighteningly colorless skin. " _What did we do to you_?"

" _Not_ you _, Extra Girl,"_ he'd replied, cocking his head to the side, dark soulless eyes appraising her from behind his mask. " _We've already established that you don't matter. Pay attention. This is about_ her _. About your darling little Ellie. Isn't everything?"_

" _I don't believe you_ ," Jules had hissed, wrenching her hands so hard against the chains holding her down that the skin at her wrists had burned as the metal chaffed and sweat seared against her wounds. " _I don't believe you. Let us go. Let me help my sister!_ "

" _Oh… someone will help her, I'm sure,_ " he'd countered. " _As soon as they get here, your parents will run right to her, stroke her pretty blonde hair and hold her close and beg their precious favorite child to be okay. And you, Extra Girl, you'll be an afterthought. Just like you always have been_."

She'd wanted to argue that, wanted to shout back that he was wrong, but the words had been stuck in her throat because she could _see_ it happening. She could feel those age old doubts, so long buried, so thinned out by years and years of experiences suddenly rearing up, solidified and wholly formed.

" _But you already knew that… didn't you_?" he'd asked, quirking his head to the side as he'd studied her.

She'd barely managed to whisper a weak ' _shut up_ ' in response.

Oh, that had _hurt_. And he'd known it, seen the cracks in her facade and known exactly where to rub salt in the wounds. The next hour or two had been the worst. She can't even remember most of what he said. A few lines stick out here and there, but it had all boiled down to how incredibly unnecessary and unwanted her very existence was, how pointless her life would always be. Ellie had drifted in and out of consciousness. Jules hadn't been able to reach her, though her wrists had grown slick with trails of sweat-diluted blood as she'd struggled against the chains.

She still dreams about it sometimes… most of the time. That feeling of empty helplessness is something that she doesn't think will ever fade entirely. She wakes up certain that Ellie's blood is sticky on her palms, drenched in sweat as she shakes in bone-deep terror, her mind lingering in that place between sleep and wakefulness where demons are at their most powerful. The smell of dank concrete tinged with the metallic tang of blood flood her senses. It's not there, though. Not anymore, but that doesn't make her smell it any less. And the words… the words ring out in her ears.

" _Extra Girl… how sad it is to be so 're happy without you, you know… your family. I've seen it, in the other world. They don't lack anything in their lives for not having you. It might just be better for everyone here if your little anomaly of a life ended right now. Don't you think? Let them be free of you? Of the burden your unnecessary presence puts on all of them?"_

Those words hit her as deeply as the knives had gouged into Ellie. The difference is, she thinks, that Ellie's wounds have healed over. Hers start anew almost every night.

And they're made worse by what had followed.

Because he'd been right.

At least, it had seemed that way to her.

Their rescue had happened in a flurry of action that shattered Jules to her core. Yes, her parents had shown up, but they hadn't been alone. Not by a longshot. And the sight of her little sister's face reflected on someone much older, much more trained, a _hero_ , had been the first body-blow of a hit to her crumbling sense of security.

Ellie… This was Ellie. Not _her_ Ellie, of course. The other Ellie. The one who predated her, who her parents had mourned, who she'd grown up in the the shadow of. This was the ghost in the room her whole fucking life. Jules had wanted to hate her on sight. She sure as hell hated what she represents. But this woman, this version of her baby sister who is probably twice her age, is their savior, a hero, the main character of her own story. And as much as Jules had wanted to hate her, she finds that she hates herself a bit instead.

The second hit, the most substantial one, had come as the other Ellie clearly had the kidnapper well handled. He'd taken her and her sister to bait this woman, that much becomes quite clear in the days that follow, and yet she's clearly his better. He'd been subdued in moments and… and then he'd laughed. He laughed and looked at Jules as her parents rushed to Ellie's side.

Rationally, some part of her had known this made sense. Her sister had been only semi-conscious and bleeding from the neck. Of _course_ their attention went to her. But emotionally… emotionally when all she'd gotten was a " _Julie, baby, are you okay_?" from her mom and a quick hand on her cheek from her dad before they'd been completely absorbed by Ellie… it had underscored exactly, _exactly_ what her captor had been saying.

It's festered, a wound that won't heal, worsening over time in spite of parents forcing her to 'talk to' some psychiatrist friend of Aunt Lyla's. Like _that_ could help. Like she's crazy or something. She's not nuts, just self-aware. There's no fixing that. There's no fixing _her_. She's too broken for that. So, she says what she thinks the woman wants to hear for an hour once a week, just to kill the time. Both of her parents know what she's doing, she's sure of it, and it frustrates the hell out of them. But… _please_ , like her parents are the picture of mental health? Her father hadn't even gone to therapy after years on a deserted island. Making her go is more than a bit hypocritical, if you ask her, but maybe it makes them feel less guilty.

Most of the time, she wishes everyone around her would just stop pretending they care. It's exhausting and she'd really love to stop bracing for the breaking point that feels inevitable. Maybe… maybe she's even pushing them to get there. Maybe part of her thinks if she acts out enough, breaks enough rules - or laws - that they'll just snap and say what they really think. She can take it, she thinks. It will hurt like hell, but at least it would be honest.

Hasn't happened yet, though. And, really, she'd have thought last night would've been the breaking point.

At eighteen years old, she's got a lot more freedoms than she'd had a year ago. Her parents can't _really_ make her do anything. Except, of course, they control her trust fund and she still lives under their roof because the dorms won't let her bring Buster along. So, they have some influence over her life - hence the therapy sessions. In spite of legally being an adult, there are plenty of restrictions on her life.

She's pretty sure she broke all of them last night.

To be fully honest, she's not even entirely sure what kind of pills it was she took at the concert. Drugs aren't a usual thing with her. She's smoked some pot here and there at parties, but never anything else, not until last night. It had made her feel floaty and disconnected from the world, weightless and carefree as colors turned more vivid and lifelike, like someone had taken a paintbrush to the world. She'd sort of loved that.

Right up until she and Katie had gotten pulled over on the way home.

By all rights, they _should_ have spent the night in jail and ended up in front of a judge sometime in the near future. They were both stoned and reeked of alcohol. She wishes she had been dragged down to the police station. She doesn't want any kind of special treatment. But the officer had recognized her as the mayor's granddaughter and she'd wound up at home instead of at the precinct.

The rest of the night is sort of blurry, thanks to a mix of too much vodka and whatever the hell those pills Katie had brought along were. Thank god for that. Even through the haze of her imperfect memory, she can recall with clarity her mom crying and yelling. Her father was so pissed off he was absolutely silent. From the way he'd clenched his jaw and rubbed his fingers together compulsively, she'd bet absolutely anything that he'll spend the next few weeks hunting down whoever Katie's dealer is.

She knows she said things back to them, shouted at her mother. She remembers being loud enough that they'd woken Ellie, who'd ventured downstairs to find out what was going on. She's pretty sure she shouted at Ellie too. The memory of her little sister's face, stricken and hurt, swims before her mind's eye. But she can't remember a word of it.

She's willing to bet she didn't filter herself at all, though.

Maybe that's good. Maybe it was exactly what they needed to hear. It's about time they all started telling the truth.

The morning - or early afternoon, as the clock tells her it really is, in spite of the fact she just woke up - brings with it no regrets for Jules. But it does leave her feeling the after effects of the night before. Her headache is dim and she's without nausea, thank God, but her throat is so dry it burns and sitting up makes the whole world seem off-kilter. There's a pair of advil caplets and a huge glass of water on her side table that she knows she didn't have the presence of mind to put there last night. She ignores the handwritten note beneath the painkillers as she downs the pills with half the glass of water in a long swallow of thirsty gulps, but temptation rears its ugly head soon after and she finds herself staring down at her father's familiar scrawl.

 _You're wrong. We've always loved you. That's never going to change, no matter what you try to do to make it. We'll talk in the morning. Drink all of the water. Trust me on this one._

 _Dad_

 _P.S. You're grounded until you're 40 and you no longer own a car._

Jules huffs in annoyance, but downs the rest of the water in the next minute or two - because her dad is _sometimes_ right - as she gets up, pulls on a robe and catches sight of herself in the mirror. She looks a mess. Her hair's matted and last night's makeup is smeared across her face, save for bare spots her tears rinsed clean. It doesn't look like her and that's enough to scare her a little, but only for a moment because fear - like every other uncomfortable emotion - is something Jules shoves back and pretends not to feel. Instead, she yanks open her dresser drawer and grabs some makeup wipes before slamming the drawer shut too loudly. She scrubs her face harder than she should, leaving it pink and raw, but she feels more like herself when she's done. The girl staring back in the mirror seems younger, though, more vulnerable and while maybe that's honest, it's also kind of terrifying.

She's just reaching for her makeup case, set to reapply the mask that helps her feign confidence, when a hesitant knock raps against her door. It takes a beat for her to answer, because she knows, just from the knock, who it is. And she's not ready for this. Not yet. But she probably won't be much better off later, either, so she clears her throat and calls out, "You can come in."

The door squeaks slightly as it opens to reveal her mother in the doorway. Jules wants to be defiant, to hold her mother's gaze and challenge the concern that's basically pouring off of her, but she can't. It's the first time in her entire life she can remember her mom looking this worn and that's jarring because it doesn't fit. It's after lunchtime and her mom isn't even wearing lipstick. She's pale and dressed in faded blue jeans and an old sweatshirt with a loose ponytail that it seems like she did without even looking in a mirror. It's hard to see because it looks like she's hurt, like Jules hurt her, but Jules doesn't believe she has that power. Not _really_ , so it doesn't make sense in her head.

"How are you feeling?" her mom asks. Her voice is quiet, a stark contrast to the yelling last night and a whole lot less comfortable.

"Fine, I guess," Jules answers, shrugging as she grabs her brush and starts working at the knots in her hair, mostly just to give herself something to do.

"Good…" her mom replies, a sigh rattling out of her. "That's good." She pauses after that, not moving or speaking, and that sits uneasily with Jules because her mother isn't exactly prone to silence and she doesn't quite know what to do with this level of awkward. "I'd like to talk," her mom continues after a few seconds. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"It's your house," Jules replies, meeting her mother's eyes briefly in the mirror.

"It is, but it's your room," her mom answers, stepping through the threshold and shutting the door behind her. She doesn't venture further inside, though. She just looks around like she's taking in all of the details of the space for the first time.

"For now," Jules agrees, setting her brush down and turning to look at her mother. "I guess that means you're not kicking me out."

"Never," her mother replies immediately, looking stricken at the thought. "Jules I am… absolutely terrified of losing you."

"Sure," Jules scoffs, rolling her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself. Her mom winces at the reaction.

"I didn't come here to fight with you, Julie," she says, taking a deep breath. "And I didn't come here to listen to you tell me over and over again how you think I feel about you. I heard plenty of that last night."

"Then why _are_ you here?" Jules asks, defensiveness mounting.

"Because I'm hoping you'll listen," her mom replies. "I can't make you believe anything I say. That's incredibly clear, but I think maybe there's some things you should know. Our situation is complicated. It always has been, but there are some things… there are some things I couldn't tell a little girl, but I think maybe I could tell my adult daughter… if she's willing to listen."

It's curiosity more than anything else that makes Jules nod sharply one time in reply. Her mom takes a steadying breath and sits down in Jules' desk chair, looking small and vulnerable. It's a sharp contrast to the night prior, but it also reminds Jules strongly of looking in the mirror and she knows - she _knows_ \- that whatever her mother came her to say is something she believes.

"When the first Ellie left, when I was pregnant with you, I left your dad," she says finally.

Whatever Jules had been expecting her mother to start with, that had definitely not been it. "What?" she asks. She's pretty sure her eyes are bugging out, but she's also pretty sure that's understandable, because what her mother just said does _not_ make sense. At all.

"I did," her mom says, shaking her head at herself, looking lost in memories, "though I didn't really think of it that way at the time. I was sure he'd leave me sooner or later, that he would realize nothing we had was real, that our whole relationship was a bi-product of the crazy situation we found ourselves in. So, I pushed him away. I didn't do it to hurt him. I did it to protect myself… You're a lot like me, in that way."

Jules freezes at that piece of insight because… _yes_ … yes, that does sound like her. She's self-aware enough to recognize that, and the awareness makes her brow furrow as she watches her mother warily.

"You're a lot like me in so many ways," her mom says, looking up at her and meeting her eyes. "We're both strong-willed, both smart, both ready to lash out when we think someone is going to hurt us. I get it, baby. I do. That's why this kills me so much. Sometimes looking at you is like looking at myself when I was your age. It's like looking at my own mistakes happening in front of me through a one-way mirror, but I can't stop them from happening. I can't make you see my side of the glass."

That all sounds fine to Jules, but it doesn't change the facts.

"Mom, there's a whole different universe out there where you and dad and Ellie and Nate exist and I don't," Jules points out. "And you're _fine_. You're a happy little family without me."

"There is," her mother agrees. "And I'm sure the other me is perfectly contented. And I feel sorry for her."

Jules makes a derisive noise and lifts one eyebrow at her mother. "Yeah. Okay. Sure." She probably couldn't sound more disbelieving and bitter if she tried.

"I do," her mother reiterates, holding her gaze. There's not even a hint of a smile on her face. Now that Jules thinks about it, she hasn't had even a trace of happiness about her since she walked into the room. "She has no idea what she's missing."

"She's happy without me," Jules repeats forcefully.

"I'm sure she is," her mother agrees. "I was happy before I had Nate. And before I had Ellie."

"That's different," Jules argues. "They're my family and they're complete without _me_."

"They're not your family," Felicity shakes her head. "They look like your family, but that Ellie is not our Ellie. That version of me is not your mom. Our lives are totally different. You seem to think that just because that version of me never had you, it means that I don't actually want you and… honey, that's just not true. It's not even close."

Jules withdraws a bit at that, biting her lip as she tries to process that idea. But her mom's not done talking.

"It wasn't even just you and Ellie and Nate that I wanted," she confesses. "I wanted another baby after that. Your dad didn't. We talked about it when Nate started kindergarten. But you were a teenager and Will would have been twenty by the time the baby was born and your dad just… he thought it was too much. So, we decided we were done. But I still wonder, sometimes. Would we have had a boy or a girl? Would he have been artistic like you? Would she have had dark hair like you or been blonde like Nate and Ellie? The other version of me, the one in the other universe… she knows you exist. That Ellie would have told her. And, differences between me and her aside, I promise you that she wonders about you, too."

Confusion never sits well with Jules and her mom has surprised her now three times in as many minutes. But her mom knows her well and picks up on that immediately.

"You're out of water," her mother notes, nodding toward the empty glass on her dresser. "Did you want to go grab some more?"

It's an out, an option for a break. Jules knows that, but she's also not going to take it.

"I'm fine," she says, drumming her fingers on the dresser for a moment as she makes a decision. When she settles on a choice, she walks over to her bed and sits down on it across from her mom. It puts them at eye-level, on even ground, and for the first time today, she sees the tiniest smile grace her mother's lips. "You can keep talking, if you want to."

"As long as you keep listening," her mom replies.

Jules nods in agreement. She's still not sure quite what to make of everything her mom is saying, but she does feel like she's being treated like an adult. She likes that. Her mother isn't sugarcoating anything today. It's refreshing.

"I'm pretty sure I'm a captive audience at this point," Jules says, looking at the note her dad had left. "Grounded 'til I'm 40, right?"

Her mom cracks a full smile at that, her eyes lingering on the note. "It might not be quite that long," she says. "You're grounded _for sure_ , but you'll probably see the outside of the room before you graduate."

"I'm a freshman," Jules points out.

"That's still much sooner than 40," her mom counters. "Big leap in the right direction. Take it with a smile. I'll talk to dad once we've all cooled down and figure out what we're actually going to do, but the part about your car stands, Jules. You drove drunk and high. You could have killed yourself, Katie or anybody unlucky enough to cross your path. Nothing excuses that and the cop _should_ have arrested you. Your dad tried to get him to when he dropped you off, but he'd already taken Katie home and he would have had to admit what he'd done if he tried to backtrack later. We'll get you a good bicycle so you can get to school and dance practice. But if you drive again in the next two years, I'm donating your entire trust fund to Mothers Against Drunk Drivers and you'll be volunteering at the hospital in the pediatric trauma ward so you can see in detail what happens to kids when people drive drunk. You got me?"

Jules gulps heavily at that because there's absolutely no doubt in her mind that her mother means every word of it. And… now that she's thinking with a clearer headache-free mind than before, she knows her mom is right. What she'd done last night was stupid and reckless. Endangering herself is one thing - it's not _smart_ , but at least it's just her. Putting random people in harm's way is another thing entirely.

"Got it," Jules agrees. "I know I screwed up. I won't do that again. I don't want to hurt anyone. I promise."

"You'd better not," her mother tells her heavily. "But as much as I don't want to see you hurt anybody, I care more about you than any stranger you might have gotten in an accident with. It's selfish, but you mean more because you're my daughter. And as much as I don't want you to accidentally kill someone, what I _really_ can't stand is the idea of you getting yourself killed."

Jules looks down at her knees and picks at the fuzz of her bathrobe. Meeting her mom's eyes right now is just too much.

"Your dad and I have done everything we can to keep you safe, but we can't protect you from yourself," her mom says. "And, Julianna, you scare the hell out of me."

The teenager rolls her eyes and looks off to the side.

"You don't believe me?" her mom asks. "You don't think yesterday was hard for me, too? You don't think it was hard on your dad or Ellie or Nate or Will? Do you honestly think you're the only one that was affected by what happened last year?"

"What are you even talking about?" Jules asks, looking at her mom like she's crazy. That's a mistake, though, because the bewildered look in her mother's eyes gets her thinking. And… oh…

 _Oh_ …

"You didn't even realize it was a year ago yesterday you were taken, did you?" her mom asks in astonishment.

"I…" Jules starts, her mind racing. She hadn't consciously realized it, no, but somewhere inside… somewhere, she must have known. Because yesterday she'd been reckless in the extreme. That can't be a coincidence.

"You left for school and you never came home," her mom chokes out. Her eyes are watering and the sight of that makes Jules panic a bit, but her mom isn't about to stop now. "Just like a year ago, you left for school and never showed up. No one knew where you were. You didn't register on facial recognition programs - trust me, I tried - and you left your phone at home. You didn't call, didn't text, didn't update your social media. Your dad had the whole team out looking for you. He called in favors from basically everyone we know. I ran background checks on all your professors - drop art history, by the way, that guy is scum. You terrified _me_ like I've only felt a few times in my life."

"Like when Zoom was after the first Ellie, right?" Jules asks in an attempt to brush it off, to make her impact less meaningful, but her mother's response is swift and decidedly not what Jules had been aiming for.

"No," she replies. "Not even a little like that. I loved that little girl, but she was my daughter for a month. She showed me what it was like to be a mom. She showed that I _wanted_ to be a mom. _You're_ the one who made me one. _You're_ the one I watched grow up right in front of me for almost nineteen years now. So if you want to compare yourself to her, you're right that I care about one of you a whole lot more than the other, but Jules, honey, you are wrong about which one."

It feels like someone pulled the rug out from right under her and, even though she's sitting, Jules feels uncharacteristically unbalanced.

"You love the first Ellie," Jules insists.

"Yeah," her mom agrees. "I do. I always will. But, I love you, too. And you mean a hell of a lot more."

"That… that doesn't…" Jules blinks, her thoughts dissolving to nothing as her eyes dart around the room, searching for something to latch onto, something that makes sense.

"I struggled a lot with losing her for a long time. Maybe too long," Felicity continues, obviously recognizing that she's gained a little footing in this conversation. "That affected you and me right off the bat and I'm _sorry_ for that because it didn't do you any favors. But if you think for one second that I'm not more attached to you and _our_ Ellie and Nate than a little girl I raised for a month nearly twenty years ago, you're crazy. You guys are my life, Jules. And nothing in the entire world will ever terrify me as much as the idea of the three of you and Will in danger. I've seen your dad put his life on the line more nights than not for more than two decades. I can cope with that, as scary as it is. I'm used to it. But you guys? We came so close to my worst nightmares last year and then last night…"

To Jules' horror, her mom's words break off on a sob. She's not sure what to do, if she should do anything at all, but her mom is visibly trying not to cry as she presses the back of her hand to her mouth and shakes her head.

"Mom, I'm… I'm fine," she supplies, inching slightly forward, toward her mother. Instinct has her reaching for her mom's free hand, but she stops herself midway, starts to pull it back. Her mother grabs her fingers, though, holds them tight in her shaking hand. The onslaught of emotion is intense and Jules can't honestly feel the strength of her mother's desperate grip, hear the way she sucks in a ragged breath as she tries not to cry, without her own resolve crumbling a bit.

"I thought I'd lost you," her mom lets out in a near whisper. Tears start in earnest at the admission, slipping down her cheeks as she looks back at Jules with all of her raw pain readily visible. It's hard to watch, but Jules also can't look away. "I thought he'd come back. Or that some other big bad had figured out who the Arrow was and had taken you. I thought we'd find your body, Jules. And then to have you show up on our doorstep after putting your own life in danger and shouting at me that it's because I don't really love you? I have never loved anyone more than you and there is nothing - _nothing_ \- I would not give in this entire world for you to believe that."

As always, a display of emotion on this level leaves Jules feeling uneasy, but she also has the sudden sense that this is her fault. That has her grappling for a way to fix it, to dial things back to something far more comfortable. But… but things haven't been comfortable between her and her mother in a year and she doesn't have a clue where to start.

"It's okay," she urges. "It's fine, Mom. Really. You don't have to cry. I screwed up, okay? I screwed up and I said things I shouldn't have because… because I made stupid choices. But it's okay."

"Nothing about this is remotely okay," her mother counters brokenly, not soothed in the least. "Nothing."

Before she even stops to register what she's doing, Jules stands up and pulls her mother up with her. She wraps her arms around her mom in a tense hug that leaves her heart pounding in fear. Because, yes… _yes_ , this is for her mother, but it's also something she desperately craves and doesn't want to admit. Her mother pushing her away right now would have broken them irrevocably.

But she doesn't.

Felicity clings back as tightly as she can, burying her face in her daughter's neck with a sob that takes on a completely different tone.

Relief, Jules realizes with tremendous surprise. It's a sob of _relief_.

It's going to be a very, very long time before her mother loosens her hold on her. She knows that immediately, so she settles in, forces herself to relax in her mother's arms. It's the right move, she thinks, because it makes her mom let out another little sob of relief against her neck. And for her… she soaks in her mother's warmth, lets her familiar scent wash over her, lets herself feel at home for the first time in a year. A pang of longing hits her and she shudders, ducking her head.

She wants this so badly it hurts. And, as her mother holds onto her like a lifeline, she wonders for the first time if she's not the only one who does. It's a scary thought, something that gives her a sliver of hope. And hope… hope means having something to risk, something to lose. That's not something Jules generally allows. But this time, she thinks she might stand to lose more if she _doesn't_ allow it. The problem becomes that Jules doesn't do things by halves. When she loves, she loves with her whole heart. When she lets them in, she lets them in entirely.

"It's not okay," she agrees, mumbling against her mother's shoulder. "But maybe it will be."

Her mom pulls back slightly at that, just enough to force Jules to raise her head and meet her shiny-eyed gaze. If Jules has a sliver of hope, her mom is absolutely awash with it. The guilt Jules had been pushing down surges upward at the sight of it.

"How?" her mom asks. It's not an idle question. She's looking for an answer and Jules swallows hard as she thinks about what concessions she's willing to give, what she's willing to risk.

"Maybe… maybe next time I go talk to Lyla's friend, you could come with me," Jules offers, anxiety swells inside her at the suggestion and she finds she neither can keep her mom's gaze, nor continue to look away.

"You said we couldn't come with," her mom reminds her. "Doctor Thompkins suggested that months ago. You said no."

"I did," Jules agrees, swallowing hard. This whole conversation leaves her jittery. Her damp palms rest against her mother's back as her thumb rubs against the fabric of her mom's sweatshirt. "Maybe that was a mistake. It's not like it would be the only one I've made lately, right? You can come… just you, though. Not Dad. That would… it'd be too much. But maybe you could. You know, if you wanted to."

"Yes," her mom says immediately. The smile that graces her lips is blindingly bright, full of wonder and awe as her eyes search Jules'. Whatever she finds - or doesn't - in her daughter's eyes, it only makes her grin grow wider. It's so light, so _happy_ that it steals Jules' breath away. Because, this? This isn't faked and it's not borne of guilt. This is something else entirely. "Yes, I would love to come with you."

"Good," Jules agrees, letting her hand drop. Her mom correctly interprets that as her signal to end the hug. Jules is a little overwhelmed by all of this as it is and the proximity is starting to make things more awkward. "That's really good."

Her mom steps back and rests a hand on Jules' cheek and rubs her thumb across it softly. It's not nostalgic exactly, not for Jules anyhow. She can't remember her mom having done that to her when she was younger, so it can't be. But it still feels oddly reminiscent to her anyhow and she's left wondering from the gesture and the look on her mom's face if she's not seeing her as a little girl barely toddling across the floor again.

"From the moment your dad told me that I was pregnant, I have always loved you, Julianna. I have always wanted you," her mom tells her. "And I always will. I know you don't believe that yet, not to the extent I mean it, anyhow. But I'm never going to stop showing you. No matter what you do, no matter how many mistakes you make or how hard you push me away, I'm still going to be here, trying to prove it to you."

Jules can't quite fight back the blush that floods her cheeks at that statement and she bites her lip as she looks to her toes. The intimacy of this moment is a bit much for her. But she can't let it go entirely without muttering back, "well… maybe I'll keep letting you try, then."

She doesn't look up, but she's not surprised to feel the press of her mother's lips to her forehead a moment later before the older woman whispers "I love you, my Julie-bug."

"I love you, too, Mom," Jules chokes out. The words try to lodge themselves in her throat, but she won't let them stay there. She forces them out because, as hard as that is, she knows that healing always hurts and she's starting to wonder if this isn't exactly what it looks like.


	39. October 2033 - Part Two

Time crawls by at a snail's pace. Oliver's lived a lot of long days in his life, but it's been awhile since one has seemed as drawn out and pained as this one.

" _Let her come to you_ ," Felicity had told him, her hands resting against either side of his overly tense neck. " _Both of you need to take a breath and calm down."_

" _How the hell do I calm down, Felicity?! How am I supposed to not be absolutely furious about this?"_ He hadn't even realized how tense he was until her fingers dug into the back of his neck, kneading the tight muscle that barely gave at all beneath her touch.

" _I'm not telling you that you can't be mad, Oliver,_ " she'd clarified. " _Hell,_ I'm _mad. And I'm hurt and scared and so, so frustrated. But yelling at her isn't going to help anything. And you_ know _that. You know Jules. A screaming match would make her defensive and push her away and I'm terrified of losing my baby right now as it is. So you need to_ cool down _and give her some space until she's ready to come to you. You got me?"_

He'd nodded, only a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement. She might not have even picked up on it had her hands not been physically touching his neck. But they were and she had. And she'd murmured, " _Thank you"_ before pressing up on her tiptoes to touch her forehead to his and adding a quiet, " _We'll get through this."_

He's spent the day trying to believe her, but for all his might, he can't figure out how.

After so much struggling with Jules, after so many years of consciously and consistently trying to prove how much they love her, how much they _like_ her, to have had all that progress ripped away in the course of a few hours last year… it's absolutely gutting. It's too much to bear, makes something hollow out in the pit of Oliver's stomach.

He would do anything at all to save his baby girl. But he hasn't got a clue how to save her from herself.

In the hours after that conversation with Felicity, she'd gone up to talk to Jules alone, considerably more composed than he could even imagine himself being, and he'd gone down to the basement to beat the crap out of a punching bag.

It hadn't helped. His frustration had proven too bone deep to be exorcised by hitting leather 'til his knuckles bled, but it had provided a distraction, a way to pass the time and exhaust his body further. Not that his body really needed help with that. It's not like he'd slept at all last night. Between the terror of realizing they had no idea where Jules was and the anger when she finally turned up and the absolute grief of Felicity's sobs after Jules sloppily spewed accusations at them, at _Ellie_ when she wandered downstairs… sleep hadn't been an option. Being awake had been a nightmare enough.

Exhaustion had saturated his muscles, muddied his mind, as he pounded the punching bag into submission, but Oliver's as stubborn as his daughters and he'd been in no place to slow down and take a rest.

The lone bright spot of his day had come when Felicity had found him after her talk with Jules. There'd been a whole lot more hope on her face than there was scarcely a few hours before and she'd hugged him and cried into his neck that Jules had invited her to come with to therapy and had said she loved her. The intensity with which Felicity had needed that was clearly overwhelming. She loves her children fiercely - all of them - and that Jules doesn't know that, doesn't _feel_ it, is something that hurts her more than Oliver can stand.

Something about Felicity's tears in the security of his arms had shifted Oliver's anger to a softer, more broken tone. He's upset still, but there are layers to it, now. There is also pain and hope and fear and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He just… he wants to _fix_ this, to heal his family, and it feels wounded beyond repair at the moment.

Now, as Felicity quiets in his arms, her body sagging against him, he holds her closer and presses soft kisses to her hair. "You should get some sleep," he tells her, his voice achingly soft. She's not being gentle with herself right now, so he needs to be. His hand soothes up and down her spine and she shudders out an exhausted sigh against his chest. "Take a nap, honey."

It's not like she slept last night either.

"Yeah," she agrees, nodding against him. Her word breaks with a yawn. "Yeah… Jules is in her room. She knows she's grounded and she didn't put up a fight about it at all. Nate's reading up in the family room and Ellie was chatting on the phone in her room, last time I looked."

"I've got them," Oliver promises. "You don't need to worry. Not right now, anyhow. Go sleep."

Honestly, in spite of her agreement, he'd sort of expected her to put up a fight. But she's been running on worry for about twenty-four hours now and with the kids safely ensconced in the house, that adrenaline is fading away, leaving her completely sapped.

"I'm glad you and Jules had a good talk," he says as she steps back and squeezes his hand lightly.

"Me too," she agrees. "But I think it drained me even more. I just… I just want…"

"I know," he agrees when she can't finish the sentence. The precise words don't matter, he knows the sentiment behind them and he feels it wholeheartedly, too. Most days, he's not sure he can find the words either.

"Don't stay down here, okay?" she requests. "The kids need to see us today."

She's right. He knows she's right and he tells her as much. He kisses her once more before she makes her way upstairs to take a nap and he hops in the shower to quickly rinse away the sweat and blood and frustration the day has wrought. He doesn't bother wrapping his split knuckles, but he does smear a bit of neosporin across them before slipping into a fresh pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt and heading back upstairs from the basement gym.

He's barefoot, his steps unintentionally near silent, and when he hits the first floor and steps into the kitchen, it's clear Nate hadn't heard him coming because he jumps about a foot from his place perched atop a barstool with his hand stuck in a giant jar of jellybeans.

"Dad… hey," the eleven-year-old greets, looking for all the world like a deer in the headlights from behind the wire-rim of his glasses.

"Hey, bud," Oliver answers, fighting back a smile as he raises an eyebrow at the candy. "Isn't it a bit close to dinnertime for sweets?"

"It's just some jellybeans," Nate argues with a huff.

"Put 'em away," Oliver says seriously. "You'll ruin your appetite."

This is mundane - as close to rule-breaking as Nate ever gets - and there's something so routine about Nate sneaking junk food, that Oliver forgets for a split-second that today is different, that Nate had to have been affected by the stress of last night, too. So, it comes as an unwelcome surprise when Nate actually snaps at him.

"Yeah," Nate says sharply. "I'm just a horrible kid having candy. I might as well be breaking the law and driving drunk like a total idiot who's gonna get themselves killed, right?"

Part of Oliver recoils a little at that. Instinct has him wanting chastise Nate for talking back, but he holds his tongue when he sees Nate's lower lip quiver a little and his eyes turn suspiciously glassy.

"Come here," Oliver tells him as he walks over to the barstool and wraps his arms around his little boy. And he _is_ a little boy still. For all he's grown lately, for as adult as he likes to make himself seem, he's caught somewhere between childhood and teenagerdom. He's still learning about the world around him, still adjusting to so many of the harsher realities of life, and he clearly can't process how his sister could be so cavalier about her own life. In all the fuss over Jules herself, Nate had been somewhat overlooked.

"She's okay, Nate," Oliver tells the overgrown little boy as he sniffles against his father's shirt. "She wasn't hurt and we're getting her help."

"I hate her," Nate mumbles on a sob. He doesn't mean it, not really, but the words still feel like a serrated blade to the gut for Oliver. "She's selfish and she hurts everybody because she only cares about herself and I hate it. I hate it _so much_."

And that, at any rate, is something Oliver knows he believes, something he feels fully in this moment. Nate loves his family so gently, is so childlike in his affection at times, that he's prone to boiling everything down to the simplest explanation for his emotions. But, in truth, Oliver's aware that Nate only feels this so strongly because he does love his sister. And all of this - _all_ of it - boils down to fear and confusion.

"It's okay to hate what she did," Oliver tells him. "I do, too. I think she even might. But you don't hate her, Nate."

"How can she do this to us?" Nate demands, pulling back and looking up at his dad. He's still got a jellybean pinched between his fingers. "Doesn't she even care about us at all? Does she not even know how scared we all were? She made Mom cry. Does she just think she's too good for all of us? Or… or want to get away from us? Or… wish she had a different family?"

"Oh, god, Nate… no," Oliver sighs, taking the boy's hands in his own and sitting on the barstool next to him. "It's the opposite of that."

"I don't understand!" Nate says. It's a loud, childish protest that makes him seem so much younger than he is for a moment. "'Cause I'm sitting here feeling bad for getting busted eating jelly beans and disappointing you when she goes out and does the stupidest, most dangerous things I can think of and then she acts like it's _our_ fault."

Oliver's quiet for a long moment, watching his boy. "You heard when she got home last night?" he asks, as pieces click together.

"I couldn't sleep," Nate admits, letting go of one of his dad's hands to wipe at his own nose. "I know you tried to hide it all from me, but I'm not stupid, you know."

"Never once have I thought you were," Oliver tells him.

"I heard the cop," Nate continues, as if his dad hadn't spoken at all. "I know what she did. She could've _died_ and all she did was yell and blame all of us… I think she hates us."

Oliver blows out a thin, steadying breath. Nate isn't saying anything he hasn't thought himself, in his darker moments with Jules. Emotionally, it does feel like she hates them sometimes, like she blames them for her own existence. Rationally, he knows better, he's fully aware that pushing people away is her defense mechanism, that sass and snark and distance are weapons of self-defense inherited from both her aunt and her mother. She's honed them into mighty weapons over the years and, at times, they feel unbeatable. But Oliver's faced down far deadlier foes in his day and he's not about to concede this battle.

"I know you don't understand," Oliver tells his son, meeting his gaze with a sympathetic look. "It's complicated... more complicated than any of us realized for a really long time. Your sister doesn't act this way because she doesn't love us. She does. She's just terrified, deep down on the inside, that we don't really love her."

"But we tell her _all the time_!" Nate protests. To him, that seems like enough. It's so simple to a kid his age, one who's never had Jules' insecurities, and to some extent, Oliver's glad his son can't understand.

"Words help," Oliver agrees. "Actions help more. Just saying we love her isn't going to convince her of anything. We've got to show her. Again. And again. And again. Right up until she feels it. Right up until she _knows_ it's true…. So no more saying you hate her, Nate. You and I both know that's not true and it's the last thing she needs to hear."

Nate bows his head sheepishly at that and stares at the jellybean in his hand as he rolls it back and forth between his fingers like a worry stone.

When he speaks again, it's in the smallest voice Oliver can remember hearing. "I just don't want my sister to die."

"Oh, god, Nate," Oliver breathes out. The words spoken aloud by his son hit him like a suckerpunch and a solid wave of nausea roils through him at the very idea.

But Nate's not done and it seems like all of a sudden the floodgates are open.

"Drunk drivers kill people and they die," Nate says intensely, like it's absolute, like he can't understand how Jules is even alive today. He probably can't. "And the cop said she took drugs, too, Dad! Drugs are bad and wrong and they hurt you and make you do bad things and they can kill you, too, and I don't wanna lose my sister. She's my _sister_!"

Oliver feels entirely out of his depth in this moment. Part of him wishes Felicity were here right now, instead of asleep upstairs. She's always connected easier with Nate than he has. But, on the other hand, part of him is glad that he and Nate get this moment. Hard as it is, Oliver understands all too well what it feels like to be terrified of losing his sister, and he's grateful that Nate's opened up to him about this.

"She made terrible choices last night," Oliver agrees. "But she knows that. She could have died, it's true. And she knows that, too. But Nate, you can't worry about what could have happened. You've gotta deal with what _is_. And right now, what we've got is your sister home and safe. We're getting her help and she's promised to listen and work with us. That's a big step for her."

"What do I need to do?" Nate asks. "Tell me what to do." The poor kid sounds desperate. He's grappling for a way to help his sister and Oliver knows the boy needs direction, somewhere productive to focus his energy. He's just eleven, barely in middle school, and he has so little control over what's going on in his family right now.

"What you need to do," Oliver tells him, "is bring your sister jellybeans."

"...Excuse me?" Nate asks, confusion etching itself across his face. Oliver has to break a smile at that. Nate is the sweetest, cutest little kid and he loves this boy intensely even if it sometimes feels like they don't quite understand each other. Today… today they do.

"Take the jellybeans upstairs. Knock on your sister's door. Tell her you brought some to share and tell her you were worried about her. But don't bring up specifics about yesterday," Oliver advises. "Don't blame her for anything and _don't_ argue with her. Definitely don't tell her you hate her - it's not true anyhow. Just remind her you love her. Hug her, if she'll let you, and listen if she wants to talk, even if it's just about what jellybean flavors she likes the least."

Nate's very quiet for a moment before he says "Popcorn."

"What?" Oliver asks, blinking back.

"She hates the popcorn flavored ones. She spits them out," Nate informs him with a tiny shrug. "They're not my favorite either. We both like the sweet ones."

Of course he does. Nate's sweet tooth is absurd.

"Maybe remind her you know that about her, then," Oliver tells him. "She probably needs to see that people pay more attention to her than she realizes."

"Okay," Nate agrees, hopping off the barstool and taking the jar of jellybeans in hand. "Thanks, Dad."

"Sure thing, kiddo," Oliver replies. "Just… don't eat _all_ of those, okay? You really don't want to spoil your dinner."

"Don't worry," Nate answers, a small grin curving at his lips. "I've got loads of room."

It's probably true. Between him and his new buddies Matt and Carlos, who seem to materialize out of thin air anytime there are snacks around, Oliver's debated getting a second fridge for the garage. It's been awhile since the years when Will devoured everything in sight and neither of the girls have ever had the growth spurts his boys seem prone to. Oliver had forgotten what it was like, but is fast realizing that leftovers are not going to be something that last very long for the next few years of Nate's life.

Nate wanders upstairs, munching jellybeans as he goes, taking the steps two at a time. It's only after he's out of sight that Oliver lets out a sigh of exhaustion. He really hadn't counted on an emotional run-in with his little boy today, but maybe he should have. There are so many ways Jules' actions last night have affected their family - so many ways the kidnapping last year continues to hurt them all - and it feels like they're still discovering new wounds that aren't done healing on a regular basis.

Needing to be available to the kids, but with all of them occupied and Felicity hopefully asleep, Oliver feels a bit restless. There's plenty he could be doing for work, of course, even though Senate's not in session right now, but he's pretty sure anything of that nature would be distracted and fruitless today.

But he needs to do _something_.

He heads out back, leaving the door open as he goes, and looks for a project. The first thing that catches his eye is the grill and he spends a few minutes scrubbing it clean before it's pretty clear that's done. Then he moves on to picking up yard debris. October or not, it isn't like their yard is huge and there's not that much work to be done. He rakes, breaks a few larger branches to toss into the bin, even takes a moment to sweep the deck. But it's done quickly and he finds himself in the same state as before, antsy to keep his focus honed on something but lacking direction.

The old fairy castle he and Digg built together back when Jules wasn't even crawling yet looms overhead. It's eighteen years old and it shows. There's some paint missing along the roofline and a few boards near the ladder look like they could use to be nailed down a little better, a few need to be replaced. He'd be surprised if the roof wasn't leaking some. It's been years since the kids have used it. But, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear Jules' laughter as she pelted her little sister with water balloons and Ellie's shriek of delight as Will swooped her up in his arms before they both aimed the hose up at Jules. He can remember Nate wanting storytime up there and Ellie making him do a double-take when she - once again - declared herself president of the fairy kingdom and dubbed her father Captain of the Fairy Knights.

Days like those are done, now. Will's an adult living his own life. Jules is in _college_. Ellie's interests have gone from fairy kingdoms to volleyball and vigilantism. And even his little Nate's a middle schooler, letting go of childish things far faster than Oliver's ready for him to.

But the fairy castle still stands. And, even if it no longer matters much to any of the kids, it suddenly means a whole lot to Oliver that it's still there, still in good shape, a standing monument to the childhoods he's treasured so much but are fast fading away.

Fixing a few nails turns into replacing some boards and reattaching some shingles. He's lost track of time entirely when someone hands him a piece of sandpaper, jarring him back into the moment.

"Been a while, but this is familiar," Digg says.

Oliver pauses a moment, before taking the sandpaper from Digg. "Yup," he agrees, focusing on smoothing over the rougher edges of the wood he's just replaced on the old playhouse. "Been a long while."

"You want some help?" Digg asks. Oliver doesn't have to look to know his old friend is standing there, looking up with crossed arms and a broad stance, already well aware of the answer. They've known each other for more than twenty years, have seen each other through the best and worst parts of their lives, and had each other's backs in countless life-threatening situations.

Compared to all that, this should be simple. But it's not. Because when Oliver slows down, when his hand stills against the splintered wood, all of the sorrow and frustration and anger rushes back over him. And he can't even _breathe_ for how badly he feels like he's failed his daughter.

"I got it," he tells Digg without looking back. Digg gives a grunt that's meant to sound like a concession, but also definitely means he's being insightful. "I need to do this," Oliver adds a moment later. It's an admission that leads Digg to a far more satisfied hum of agreement.

"For Jules," Digg tacks on.

It seems so obvious when he says it aloud.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees, nodding once sharply, his gaze still fixed on the roughened edge of wood he's smoothing over. "Yeah, for Jules."

"She know this is for her?" Digg asks. Oliver finally looks back at his old friend. Halfway up the ladder, he towers over Digg for the moment, but something about the other man still seems larger than life.

"I'm not sure she's ever believed anything I've done was for her," Oliver confesses. His whole body slackens at the words and he takes the few steps down to solid ground, leaving the fairy castle unfinished. That's okay. It can't be fully repaired in a day. It's a much bigger project than that.

"You've done a better job with her than you think, Oliver," Digg tells him.

"Doesn't feel like it," Oliver returns, casting a glance toward the house. Felicity's in the kitchen and she gives him a little wave. He smiles back, but he wonders how much time he's spent out here. It's getting dark.

"They ordered pizza," Digg tells him, anticipating his next question. "Nate figured I was the delivery guy when he answered the door. I'm gonna try not to be insulted by how disappointed he was."

Oliver snorts at that. "Bring him food next time and you'll be his favorite."

But Digg isn't about to take the bait and switch the conversation to something lighter. "I saw Jules for a second," he says instead and Oliver finds himself holding his breath for whatever Digg is gonna say next. "The pizza got there right after me and she came down to grab a slice before heading back up to her room... She's okay, man. She's gonna _be_ okay. You know that, right?"

"No," Oliver answers, picking at a splinter in his palm. It's rooted deeply and he can't get a hold of it. It's just time, then, that'll force it out, that'll let his hand heal up. But that doesn't mean it'll be comfortable as it does. "It took years in hell for me to clean up my act, to decide I had to be someone other than the self-entitled screw up I used to be. I don't want that for her, John."

"Jules isn't you," Digg says. "Not even close. Yeah, she's going through a rough time right now and you're in uncharted waters with her. It's not like there are parenting books on how to help your kid cope with knowing they don't exist in another universe. But she's got something you never had, Oliver, something that makes one hell of a difference."

"Yeah?" Oliver asks. "What's that."

" _You_ , man," Digg tells him, looking at him like he's nuts for not having figured this out immediately. "Jules has you and Felicity to help her through all of this. And if there's one thing I know about the two of you, it's that you're both the kind of people who refuse to give up when things get hard. What'd your parents do the first time you got busted drunk driving."

"They, uh… they covered it up," Oliver admits. His mind drifts to thirty years back and the dingy cell he and Tommy hadn't spent more than twenty minutes in before they were given an _apology_ and a ride home. "I think they paid the department off."

"You get in trouble for it?" Digg questions.

"If I did, it didn't make an impression," Oliver replies. "I remember my dad being a little upset. I was glad, at the time. It proved I was important enough to him to pull him out of a meeting."

Digg hums, a quiet noise that somehow indicates a total lack of surprise. "And what'd you do about Jules so far."

"There was some yelling and some crying last night," Oliver allows, starting to pack up his tools as he talks. It's really gotten to late to work. He'll get back to it tomorrow. "I left her a note that she's grounded til she's forty, but I'll probably shave a few years off for good behavior. And she's lost her car. I donated it to Mothers Against Drunk Drivers this morning. They were more than happy to come pick it up."

"Somehow, I think _that's_ gonna make an impression," Digg tells him. "Oliver, man, I didn't know you before the island, but by all accounts you were sort of an asshole."

"Thanks," Oliver says dryly. He can't really counter it, though.

"No problem." Digg smiles. It's a toothy grin. "My point is that Jules isn't. She's young and she's hurt and scared. She doesn't know how to deal with what happened to her, but she's not a bad kid. She doesn't need five years in hell to change who she is, Oliver. The kidnapping _is_ her island. You're the one helping her find her way back right now, even when she doesn't see it."

That idea gives Oliver pause, makes him stop and look at Digg like he's waiting for more.

"Being a parent isn't easy," Digg adds. "Believe me, I know. But you're a good dad and Jules is a good kid. She screwed up, yeah, but she's got you on her side. And that's gonna make all the difference."

Digg's approval means a lot. It always has, and Oliver finds he's intensely grateful that his friend chose to show up today.

"You come by just for the pep talk?" Oliver asks. If he did, it worked. Digg's presence always seems to have a calming effect. He helps make sense of chaos. Oliver could not be more grateful for that if he tried.

"Mostly," Digg admits. "That and I wanted to distract myself. Sara's flying solo with her mask this evening, remember? She told me if I didn't get out of the lair she was gonna cut comms, because she's stubborn and difficult and-"

"And yours?" Oliver asks with a dry laugh. He actually had forgotten about Sara's first solo venture tonight. The last day has been such a whirlwind...

"I'm crediting this one to hanging around your girls," Digg informs him. "Because if we're talking stubborn…"

He's got a point. His girls and Sara Diggle are all strong young women. As a dad, that makes him equal parts proud and terrified. Sometimes they push too hard, go too far. They're far less ready for the world than they seem to think they are. And, as well trained as he knows Sara Diggle is, he also knows exactly how terrified Digg must be right now, knowing his girl is out there on the streets without him.

"Everything's been quiet lately," Oliver reminds him. "And she shoots like she was born with a bow in her hand. She's ready, Digg. I know that sounds crazy. I know it feels like just last week you were dropping her off at kindergarten-"

"Damned right it does," Digg agrees. "Blink your eyes and you're gonna be right there with me."

Ellie. He means Ellie. And he's not wrong. She's fifteen going on twenty-five, these days. She's pushing so hard - too hard - and it's too much for him to bear. He can still see her chained to that floor in a pool of her own blood when he closes his eyes. He can still remember the sharp sense of terror that had nearly gutted him as he and Felicity both rushed to save their little girl's life. Seeing her so hurt, so helpless, he's not sure he can stand the idea of her ever willingly putting herself in danger after that.

Fate be damned. Forget talk of legacy and the other Ellie. This is his little girl and all he wants is for her to have a fulfilled, happy life that doesn't leave him with a sense of terror about her safety. That's all he wants for all of his children.

He's pretty sure that's not gonna happen.

It's a notion entirely reinforced when a noise from the house draws both his and Digg's attention.

Two stories up, a window slides shut. It's dark out now, but not so dark that he can't make out the sight of his daughter carefully climbing down the brick exterior of the brownstone, blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a sword sticking out of the rucksack on her back.

...a _sword_. It's not even close to her best weapon, but it also leaves no doubt whatsoever what she thinks she's doing.

He and Digg watch in silence for a moment, both of their heads tilted slightly as they appraise Ellie's descent down the face of the building.

"Hi," Oliver shouts loudly after a moment, once he's sure she's low enough that if he startles her and she falls, she won't hurt herself too badly.

But she doesn't fall. She's _Ellie_ and she's got reflexes long-honed by Sunday night training sessions and refined by her own training she's taken on this past year.

"Dad!" she squeaks. She's frozen somewhere between the first and second floor, staring at him like she's trying to figure out a way to _not_ be busted.

Too bad for her there isn't one.

"I didn't see you there," she says, swallowing hard.

"We figured," Digg replies. The amusement in his voice is just unfair.

"That you _didn't_ see us is proof enough that you're not ready for what you thought you were going to do," Oliver tells her sharply.

Ellie drops at that, fast and purposeful. She lands in a crouch with cat-like grace, quiet and steady, before standing tall and looking her father defiantly in the face.

So, she's not letting this go, then.

 _Fantastic_.

"I have to be ready," Ellie tells him defiantly. "Cynisca needs me."

" _Cynisca_ has her mom watching over her on the comms," Digg informs her, staring her down like a target.

"Cynisca?" Oliver questions, blinking at Digg in confusion. Last he'd heard, Sara hadn't settled on a code name.

"Spartan princess," Digg replies. It would be impossible to miss the pride in his voice.

"And the first woman _ever_ to win an Olympic medal," Ellie adds. "And all-around badass tomboy. But that's not the point. I'm Sara's _best friend_ and I need to have her back. You have to let me go."

"The hell I do," Oliver scoffs immediately, the novelty of Sara's self-proclaimed name falling away quickly. "You are fifteen years old, Ellie."

"I'm ready!" Ellie argues. And, oh, she really thinks that, doesn't she? She's pink-cheeked with frustration, something he can see even from the dim porch lights, and her fists are tight, tensed with white knuckles. "You can't make me stay behind, not when Sara's out there _right now_ facing the worst this city has to offer!"

"I can and I will," Oliver snaps, holding up a finger in warning. He's not used to Ellie acting out, not like this. This is something Jules would do or maybe even Nate. But not Ellie. "After everything that happened last night, you want to just sneak out of your room at night and go _fight crime_? You're not that irresponsible, Elizabeth."

"Right," she huffs. "Because I'm the good one, right? I'm not allowed to step out of line. That's reserved for Jules. She gets to break rules and put people's lives in danger and come home to a hug while everyone walks on eggshells about how poor Julie-bug will feel. I try to go look out for my friend and help this city and I'm the one that gets called irresponsible? Yeah. That's fair."

"Ellie, your sister is dealing with-"

" _I don't care!_ " Ellie shouts with all of the frustration she clearly feels. "I don't _care_ what Jules is dealing with. What about what I'm dealing with? Did you even think about that? Does that even matter or is it just poor broken Jules? I'm not gonna be a victim, Dad. Not _ever again_ and I'm not going to let anyone else be either. This is who I am. This is my destiny and you can't keep me from it."

"The hell I can't," Oliver growls lowly, taking a few steps until he's right in front of his defiant little girl. "You think we won't care about what you went through, Ellie? You really think we don't care how you're coping? _Really_?"

She has the grace to look a little embarrassed at that.

"Your mother and I have done everything we can think of to help you through this," Oliver reminds her. " _Everything_. And you know that. But, Elizabeth, this is the most selfish and thoughtless thing you've ever done. After the absolute terror you _know_ your mom and I went through last night, you were just going to sneak out of the house at night to go start a fight? You're smarter and more thoughtful than that and I'm absolutely disappointed in your choices right now. Go to your room. You're grounded."

She's an absolute ball of teenage angst and emotions when she replies, red-faced with a sniffly nose and wet eyes. " _You're ruining my life_!" she shouts, absolutely shaking with anger and frustration and shame.

"Ellie… _Elle_ ," Oliver calls as she brushes past him. But he doesn't get a response.

Unfortunately, Ellie's going in the door, right as Jules hovers in the threshold, looking like she's considering coming out.

"Get out of my way. You're _always in the way_!" Ellie snaps at her sister. Oliver holds his breath waiting for a response from his older daughter, but she's too stunned and Ellie's gone too fast for a response.

And Jules… Jules looks hesitant, nervous. She's fidgeting, oddly vulnerable right now, and Oliver finds he absolutely has to hone in on her. Ellie can wait. She needs to cool down anyhow - and he needs to add motion sensor lights to the building, obviously - but Jules sought _him_ out. That's a rarity.

"Teenagers are fun, huh?" Digg asks, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling his attention for an instant. Oliver says nothing in reply but the raised eyebrows he returns speak volumes. Teenagers are… well, they're unlike any challenge he's faced before, anyhow. That much is certainly true.

"I, uh… Dad, do you have a minute to talk?" Jules asks. Like he would say no? "I mean, if you and Uncle Digg are busy, I could-"

"No," Oliver cuts her off. "No, honey, it's fine. We're just chatting. Of course I have time for you."

"I'm gonna head in and talk to Felicity for a bit anyhow," Digg tells them before adding. "Glad you're okay, Jules. You scared a lot of people last night." It's a stark reminder that when something's wrong, the entire team responds, not just her parents and Jules nods at her toes before looking back up, locking eyes with her father.

"I messed up. And I'm sorry," she says. There's no doubting the bald-faced earnestness of her voice or the serious look in her eyes.

 _Good_.

Oliver's relieved to see it. "Talk later, Digg. I'll want to hear all about Sara's night."

"You got it," he agrees readily, squeezing Jules' shoulder as he passes her and heads into the house.

There's a long moment of absolute silence. Through the window, he can see Felicity blinking in surprise at the stairwell Ellie disappeared into. While he can't hear the words, Digg's clearly filling her in. Oliver knows that for certain when his wife's shoulders droop and she rubs her forehead with newfound strain. She meets his eyes and there's a whole world of unspoken conversation that lives in their shared gaze.

" _Take Jules. I've got Ellie_ ," her face says. He doesn't even question it. He just _knows_. And he nods in reply as she gives him a sad smile and starts toward the stairs. Digg stays behind, taking a seat next to Nate who is positively inhaling pizza while staring somberly down at his plate.

It would be wonderful if just _one_ of their kids wouldn't be in the midst of a dramatic, emotional crisis today. Oliver's not sure he can handle more. He's put off cluing Will into what happened last night because he's not sure he can stand to see his older son's reaction. Not today. There's enough going on and Oliver doesn't need to add to it. So, he does the only thing he can - he takes it one step at a time, puts one foot in front of the other and deals with crises as they come at him.

And right now… right now is about Jules.

She's looking past him, confusion splashed across her beautiful face as she takes in what he's spent his afternoon doing. He just watches her for a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets while she tries to make sense of his work.

Sometimes Jules says more through her silence than with words. He's learned to listen to what she doesn't voice. And, because of that, he knows she hasn't reached any kind of understanding about his work on the playhouse when she finally does speak.

"You were cleaning up the fairy castle?" she asks, brow furrowed as she looks at him. "Why?"

"When I started, I wasn't sure either," he tells her walking over to his tools to finish packing them away. "I needed to do something with my hands, I guess, something to keep myself busy."

"And when you finished?" she asks. He can practically see her holding her breath.

"I'm not finished, honey," he says, crouching down and looking up at her as he puts a hammer and nails back in his toolbox. "It's about maintenance. I let it go too long. You can't just fix something once and expect it to stay that way forever."

Jules is a sharp girl - so very much her mother's daughter - and Oliver's not surprised in the least when she sighs and folds her arms, giving him a sassy look that's all her own.

"Some of my best memories of us are back when I was building this thing," Oliver tells her, standing up and brushing his hands off on his jeans. "You'd nap in a playpen right over there while I worked. I remember talking to you, asking your advice. You'd just giggle and try to eat the grass. One time I showed you color samples and you spit up all over one. I took that as a clear vote against the pink."

It's really, really quiet for a moment as Jules looks at the playhouse, trying to see what he does. "I don't remember that," Jules tells him. "I was too little."

"Yeah," Oliver agrees. "I know. But I do. And whether you remember it or not, it's a part of our roots, you and me. Building this for you meant a lot to me. It still does."

"Building it for me and Ellie, you mean?" Jules ventures. Oliver hates the caution in her voice. He absolutely _hates_ it.

"No, Jules," he counters. Part of him wants to shake her by her shoulders until she understands. "For _you_. We knew we wanted Ellie one day. And we hoped we'd have her and that she'd one day use and love this treehouse, too. But I didn't build it for her. I built it for you."

He must sound convincing, because she seems uncomfortable. It's never easy for Jules to accept what she wants to hear. He's not surprised at all when she steps up, touches the still-rough wood on a board he replaced, but changes the topic entirely.

"I guess I really screwed up last night, huh?" she asks. She's not looking at him.

"Yes you did," he agrees right away. He'll be gentle with her, let her take the lead, but not about this. There can't be any room for doubt this time.

"I probably deserved everything you yelled at me last night," she adds quietly. "Even if I don't remember a lot of it."

Oliver sighs. "Whether you remember it or not, it's part of our roots, too," he says again.

"Yeah…" she agrees in a tiny voice before casting her eyes back toward him. "I _am_ sorry. I just… I was just…"

She's struggling to explain, but she can't. That makes Oliver's heart drop. Not because she can't find the words, but because she doesn't seem to quite know how to make sense of it for herself.

"I could demand an explanation," he says. "Or I could threaten you or tell you stories about people I've seen who ODed or crashed after drinking and driving. But you're already facing consequences for what you did and secondhand stories of thirty-year-old mistakes by someone you never know aren't going to make an impact. And, I can't really insist you give me an explanation when I don't think you have one for yourself… Do you?"

She's blinking hard, and he knows she's fighting back tears. For all the walls she puts up, Jules feels everything so intensely.

"No," she agrees, sounding small and scared. "I don't. Right then, I just didn't _care_. I just… I didn't want to hurt and I didn't like how I felt. I was angry and sad and Katie said it would be fun."

Anger and frustration roils around in his heart, but Oliver pushes it back down. Jules might have terrible taste in friends, but Katie's no older than Jules, barely an adult and he suspects she has her own internalized problems she can't quite process. _What_ those are, he's not sure, but it's his own daughter he's concerned with, not her friend.

"I've never once told you not to be friends with someone, Jules," he points out. "Not once. But I don't like Katie. And, maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think you like who you are when you're around her, do you?"

Jules looks so young in this moment, her arms wrapped around herself as she stares at her toes. God, she's such a little girl still, such a child, at least to him. He wants to hold her close, protect her, shelter her from the world. But he can't protect her from herself.

"No," she admits, though from the sound of her voice it plainly hurts her to say it. "I don't. It wasn't as fun as she said and today really, _really_ sucks and I feel like the worst person in the world."

"You're not," Oliver promises her. "Honey, you're _not_." She doesn't shrug him away when he touches her shoulder, so he takes a risk and tugs a little, pulling her close. She lets him, tucks her head against his shoulder and sniffles into his shirt. She doesn't hug him back, but she doesn't shy away either. It's more than he'd honestly dared to hope for. "You're learning. You messed up and, thank God, you got lucky. That you feel bad about what happened, that it scared you… that's proof enough that you're not a bad person. You're hurt and you're trying to fix that all on your own, but you don't know how. And Jules, honey… you aren't meant to. It doesn't matter how old you are or where you are in life, your mom and I are gonna be here for you helping you in any way we can. You just have to let us."

She shudders a little in his arms, curling in more. Her arms don't wrap around him, but he can feel her fingers curling into his shirt, holding on for all she's worth without opening herself up.

"You don't hate me?" she asks a moment later, in the quietest voice he can imagine.

"I could never hate you, Julie-bug," he tells her immediately. That he still has to tell her this guts him. "Not for anything. Neither could your mother. So, it might be a good idea if you stopped trying to make us."

She pulls back at that, wide-eyed and wary with confusion as she looks up to him. The sight of it absolutely breaks his heart, because she _still_ doesn't understand why she's doing what she's doing.

But he does.

"It would be simpler for you if we did," he adds, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "Proof that every bad thing that man said about you was true would be a whole lot easier than living with fear and blind hope that he wasn't. But that's never gonna happen, Jules. I don't know how to prove to you that there's nothing you can do to make us stop loving you, but I do know your mom and I will never stop trying. Not _ever_. No matter what you do."

"Dad…" she says quietly, swallowing and looking down at her feet. It's a lot for her to process, but he's not done.

"The next time you think about doing something that could cost you your life, I want you to consider that it's not just you and me and your mom who would pay for that," Oliver tells her. "You have so much more of an impact on everyone than you think you do."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, rolling her watery eyes at him. It's a defensive gesture, a dismissive one, and so very painfully Jules.

"Nate was confused and terrified of losing you," Oliver points out. "Ellie's still boiling mad because she doesn't know how to cope with any of this. Digg and Lyla and Roy spent the whole night worried about you and helping search for you. Frank was out there looking for you while Grandma Donna tried to put a brave face on for your little brother and sister. Your Aunt Thea asked how she could help. And then there's Will…"

"What about Will?" Jules asks. Her tone says she's not sure she wants to know.

"I haven't told him yet, Jules," Oliver confides. "I couldn't figure out how. Especially after we found out what happened." Jules sucks in a breath at that, brow furrowing as she watches her dad. "His mom died _last year_ in a car accident," Oliver points out. "You saw how hard that hit him, how hard it _still_ hits him. He was working last night. If things had gone worse, if you'd crashed your car, he could very well have been the first one on scene. You might question how much your mom and I love you, but you've never questioned your brother. So, next time you think about drinking or popping pills and getting behind the wheel of a car, I want you to consider what it would do to Will if he were the one to find your body."

The mention of Will cuts through something with Jules and she absolutely breaks right in front of him. Her whole face crumbles and her hands shake as she stops even trying to cage in the sobs that have been boiling just beneath the surface. Her knees wobble, unsteady under the weight of reality, and Oliver goes to hold her upright. No sooner are his arms around her, lending her support than she lets him bear her weight entirely.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, oh my god. Daddy, I'm _sorry_ ," she chokes out. It's entirely emotion, raw and uninhibited. "I don't know how to do this, what to do. I didn't _mean_ to screw up. Not like this. I don't want to hurt you. Or Will. I'm so sorry."

"I've got you," Oliver promises, holding her close as she lets everything out that she's been caging in for so long. This has been a building for a year and she's got so much to give voice to, so much to cope with, but this feels like a big first step in the right direction.

Part of him wants to promise her that it's okay, but in a lot of ways it's really not, so he doesn't. He won't lie to her. Instead he makes soothing noises and vows over and over that he's got her, that he'll help her, that he loves her. He is steady, her port in the storm, and he will not let her get pulled down by the undertow.

"What do I do?" she asks, still red-faced with tear tracks staining her face when the sobs finally abate. She looks so very lost, so completely reliant on his answer. He wishes he could just fix all of this for her, snap his fingers and make it all better, or take on her battles himself so that she doesn't have to. But it doesn't work like that.

"Make better choices," he tells her. "Every day. Talk to your therapist. Listen to us, even if you don't always believe us. Ditch Katie. And help me fix the fairy castle."

She's nodding along right up until his last suggestion, which has her pulling a face in surprise and laughing a little, even if it's a wet sound. "What?" she questions.

"You and me, Jules," he tells her, smoothing his hands over her shoulders. "We built this side-by-side once. I'd like your help to get it back in shape now."

"No one's gonna use it now," she points out, glancing up at the long-empty treehouse. "We're all too old for that."

"I know," Oliver agrees. "But that's not the point."

She pauses, reappraises the fairy castle through new eyes as she bites her lip. He wonders what she's remembering, how many great days are linked to that carefully carved fort. A lot. He'd bet there are a lot. More than he knows, even.

"No," she agrees after a minute. "I suppose it's not."

"Tomorrow," he tells her, squeezing one of her shoulders. "Eight a.m. sharp. You and I are gonna start fixing it back up together. Okay?"

"Yeah," she nods, a small smile inching across her face. "Okay. I think… I think I might kind of like that."

Him too, he realizes. Building new memories with his little girl as they fix a remnant of their past? Right now, he's not sure he can think of anything he'd like more.


	40. January 2019

**January 2019**

"Can you get the door, Julie-bug?"

"I'm trying."

"Twist it, sweetie."

"It's stuck."

Their hushed voices echo from the hallway, piercing the veil of sleep saturating Oliver's mind. He's already smiling, though, instinctively responding to his family's presence. Their door is never shut when they sleep, at least not all the way, for this very reason, which makes Oliver wonder what time it is and whether he's in the right universe because how is Felicity up before him?

He hears the knob rattling under Jules' attempts, along with a gentle gurgle from Ellie.

Just what are his girls up to this morning?

Oliver shifts where he's sprawled out on the bed, and everything's just fine, save for lingering exhaustion making his limbs feel three times heavier than he knows they are. It's only when he moves to stretch his back that he remembers why he's still laid up in bed: a sharp burning pain erupts from his lower right flank, searing through him with enough force to take his breath away. Oliver groans before he can stop himself, clamping his mouth shut a second later, gritting his teeth.

Right. He caught a bullet last night.

It hadn't hit anything major, it mostly grazed him. The graze just happened to take a huge chunk of skin with it in the process, but he would still classify it as a graze.

Felicity hadn't agreed with him.

The night before rushes back to him.

He remembers Diggle helping him down into the bunker and Felicity's ashen face as she met them with an armful of supplies. As she and Diggle got to work stitching up, she'd realized it wasn't deadly, and that he was going to be fine.

The fear had morphed into anger.

Oh, she had been livid.

He wouldn't tell her this for a long while but the sight of that anger slowly filling her eyes, of her face tightening as she clenched her jaw, her breaths forcibly measured and controlled, her fingers rubbing together in the nervous tic that was so much like his…

It made him goddamned happy .

The learning curve for her PPD had been harder than they'd both expected. She hadn't responded to the medication like she did after Jules' birth, and her recovery was taking longer than they'd hoped. Her frustration didn't help anything, and he knew his wasn't adding anything either. But they were handling it, working through it, together .

But last night, when he'd seen that flare in her eyes and heard the way she clipped her words like she only did when she was really mad, it felt like a sign that something was finally working. Even though he'd been bleeding all over the place, he'd still smiled at her, rejoicing in seeing that familiar spark in her eyes.

His smile had only pissed her off more.

She'd laid into him the entire way home, ranting as she helped him up all the damn stairs in their home - it was times like this he questioned why he thought a place with this many floors was a good idea - and into bed. It was only after she'd checked on the kids, after Thea had gone home, after she'd cleaned her face and climbed into bed with him that he finally saw her fear. He felt it in the angry kiss she planted on his lips and heard it when she whispered, "I love you so much, you frakking idiot," before she wrapped herself around his uninjured side, damn near clinging to him.

He'd held her just as tightly, finally letting the reality of it sink in.

It isn't news that what he does at night is dangerous, that he risks his life, that he has everything to lose. She takes her own risks, especially when they're out in the field together.

And even though this happens from time to time, it still hits them both just as hard as if they were discovering that life is oh-so-delicate all over again.

The groan of the wooden door pulls Oliver back to the present.

"It's broken," Jules declares.

"It's not broken," Felicity whispers before she helps Jules twist the knob. "See? It's just tricky." It is tricky - the jamb is crooked and it catches the latch all the time. Another reason they usually don't keep it closed. The door swings open with his wife's soft, "There we go. Good job, baby."

"You opened it, Momma," Jules replies, her voice comically low, not fully capturing the idea of whispering just yet.

"But you helped," Felicity replies, sweeping into the room, "and considering I had to hold your sister, I needed it."

Oliver doesn't have to open his eyes to know that Jules is shrugging in response to her mother. She takes so much at face value in her own little way, so much so that it makes Oliver pause sometimes, makes him worry a little bit. But then she gets back to doing her own thing, whether it's drawing or dancing in her room, and it's okay again, so he figures that worry is just something that goes hand-in-hand with being a parent.

It takes longer than he'd like to pull himself from the last remnants of sleep, so long that he misses Felicity stopping next to the bed and depositing a package next to his head, a package in the form of an Ellie-bug.

The baby gurgles, instantly rolling towards him like he's a beacon, her little hands hitting his chin, fingers running through his early-morning scruff.

Oliver smiles, turning to his daughter.

Felicity is still there, his wife already knowing he was awake, and she leans over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead with a quiet, "Hey, you."

"Hey," he croaks, cracking his eyes open to look up at her.

His smile becomes tentative, not sure what to expect after last night, but there's only love shining out Felicity's eyes as she gazes down at him. He lifts his left arm to cradle Ellie where she lays next to his head, keeping her close and lifting his right to reach for Felicity. She instantly leans over so he can reach her and he cups the back of her head, pulling her lips to his for a gentle kiss.

It's forgiveness and love and acceptance all rolled into one.

"Alright," Felicity says, brushing her hand over his forehead and into his hair before standing up. She smiles at their newly four-year-old daughter. Her birthday last week still feels impossible to him. How she's gotten so big so quickly, he really can't figure out. "You ready?"

The air around Jules is definitive as she nods. "Yep."

"Where're you going?" Oliver asks, the words a thick mess of exhaustion, turning to watch Felicity walk around the bed. Ellie coos next to him, calling for his attention to be put on her. He obliges, turning his face to nuzzle his nose into her side. He grimaces when it pulls at his wound but the pain is quickly overshadowed when Ellie lets out a delighted giggle, hugging his face.

"We are Mimi's-bound, aren't we, baby girl?" Felicity says, directing the question to Jules. Before the little girl can answer, his wife pats the bed with a, "Should we piggyback it down there?"

Oliver is awake enough to catch his daughter's eyes positively lighting up with a delighted, "Yes!" and he grins at the sight, especially when he sees the same smile on Felicity's face.

Jules eagerly climbs up onto the bed and Felicity maneuvers herself so their daughter can jump onto her back. Felicity catches her with a soft, "Ooph," and hikes her up higher, hooking her arms under her little legs. She claims it's her favorite form of exercise because the local bakery they go to is just a block away and carrying so many pounds on her back "more than makes up for the days I skip the elliptical."

Oliver thinks she does it because it makes Jules so happy.

Felicity whispers something to her and Jules turns her head back to Oliver with a loud, "We'll be back!"

He chuckles, and this time he can't hide his grimace when the movement pulls at the hole in his side. Felicity's back is to him so she thankfully misses it before they're out the door and heading down the stairs, leaving both the oldest and youngest Queens in their little family alone together.

Lingering pain keeps threatening to pull him back into sleep's arms - it doesn't matter what's going on, he still refuses to take any medication, not if he can damn well help it - but he pushes it back, focusing on the happy face next to his.

"Hey there," Oliver whispers to Ellie. She grins, rolling towards him and pushing up on all fours. She can crawl now, will probably start running at any moment, and she seems even more intent than Jules had been to prove her mobility at every turn. But, early mornings with Daddy seem to make her even happier than bolting across the carpet at startling speeds, and while she looks ready to crawl away, she ambles closer to him instead, a trail of drool slipping from her mouth. He smiles as it lands on the bed. She looks proud, like she meant to do it. "You won't win, you little drool monster. You already drooled all over those yesterday."

Oliver knows she doesn't understand a single word he's saying but she responds regardless, her little hands grabbing at his nose. He catches her fingers in his mouth, earning a delighted squeal that dissolves into giggles. She is such a morning baby, so bright-eyed and happy. Him, on the other hand… Well, he's usually a morning person. He's usually up at least an hour before Felicity, getting the girls up, making his wife her coffee, starting breakfast, getting a head start on whatever he has planned for the day. But not today. Today things are different, in a lot of ways. One of those things being how tired he still is.

He won't ever admit it out loud, but he's feeling his wounds a little more each time he gets one.

All the more reason to stay right there.

They lounge in the bed, Oliver and his daughter, her chubby fingers exploring the curves and planes of his face as he plays with her one moment, and dozes lightly in the next. He's vividly aware of her every single move, keeping one hand on her back, his eyes popping open when she starts to stray too far out of his reach and he just barely manages to grab an ankle and tug her back. It's those moments that sap his energy the most because the movement tugs against the open skin around his wound.

But it's also perfect. Because it's just him and his Ellie and she's happy and that's all he could ask for.

Oliver doesn't know how much time passes before he hears Felicity's footsteps on the stairs. They're soft, pulling him from slumber, noticing a second later that her movements are echoed by the sound of the television one floor down.

He shifts with a wince to greet her, but when his head doesn't immediately move, he opens his eyes to find an Ellie belly smooshed into his face.

And not just that, but his daughter chewing on his hair, drool saturating his scalp.

"Oh, Ellie ," he sighs, reaching up to extract the strands from her fists and mouth. She isn't deterred in the least, clamping her gummy jaw down. He can't help but laugh and then shake his head because god only knows what she's chewing on. He'd managed a shower last night at the bunker but he'd mostly rinsed off, wanting to get back to Felicity and his girls as soon as possible. "Let go, sweetheart. Let go of Daddy's hair."

"Now seems like a good time to remind you that your hair is getting really, really long," his wife says. "Like pre-island ready-for-my-mugshot long."

Oliver lifts his head as much as he can to look at Felicity where she hovers in the doorway. She's got a soft smile on her face, a wistful look that's filled with so much love it makes his chest hurt. Ellie also looks up, responding to the sound of her mother's voice, and watches her step into the room. Her little mouth hangs open, her fingers still holding his hair in her shockingly tight grasp.

Felicity makes her way to his unoccupied side. "Maybe now you'll actually cut it."

"And take away her chew toy?" Oliver jokes, finally freeing his hair. He wipes at his head, but he barely notices the mess there, watching Felicity approach instead. He drinks her in. She's stunning, as always - she's wearing a wrinkled t-shirt with a fresh smear of chocolate on one shoulder, jeans littered with holes and a juice stain, her hair tossed up in a messy, lopsided bun. She's absolutely perfect and his chest aches for an entirely different reason as it hits him just how lucky he is. Oliver smiles at her, talking just to talk, to keep the conversation going. "Jules wouldn't leave my mask alone until she could walk and now Ellie's got my hair. Who am I to tell them no?"

Felicity gives him a little huff of a laugh. She pauses next to the bed, looking down at him and Ellie, the small smile still fixed on her lips.

Oliver lifts his arm, not bothering to hide his grimace of pain because she already knows it's there and that it's hurting him. Her brows crease with worry, but he waves his fingers at her with a whispered, "C'mere."

The longing that fills her eyes is hard to miss, but she doesn't move. "Not a chance."

"Felicity."

"Oliver," she mimics, drawing out his name and making a face, but it doesn't mask the yearning. She does capture his hand in hers, though, lacing their fingers together as she says, "I just came to check on Ellie, and see if you wanted anything."

"I want you," he replies, tugging on her hand. "C'mere." She hesitates, glancing at the door. They can both hear the cartoons Jules watches downstairs. "Just for a minute," Oliver prods.

"I'll sit," Felicity volunteers, doing just that but Oliver rolls his eyes, shaking his head, pulling on her hand. She fights him with a, "Oliver, your side…"

"Is fine," he finishes for her. "Come here."

"Alright, but I'm only going to lay right…" She settles down on the mattress, but there's a good six inches separating them. "Here."

That's not good enough, not even close . Oliver lifts himself up just enough to wrap his arm around her - it hurts like absolute hell , but he doesn't care - and the instant he's got her, he tugs her into his side. Despite his injury, he still moves fast, fast enough that Felicity doesn't stop him in time before she's being propelled into his side. Her sternum lands right on his injury. Fire immediately nips at his nerves and he can't fight the pained groan that erupts from his chest. Felicity gasps, trying to sit up and get away from him, but he grits his teeth and shakes his head, keeping her close with surprising strength.

" Oliver -"

"I'm okay," he breathes, forcing himself to relax. The pain fades into a hot throb and he's pretty sure he just made himself bleed a bit, but he doesn't have to check to know his stitches are still holding everything together. "I'm good." She doesn't believe him, so he adds, "I promise. Besides…" Oliver cuddles her closer, his other hand keeping Ellie nearby as he kisses the top of Felicity's head. "It was worth it."

Felicity huffs her aggravation, grumbling a series of curses under her breath, making Oliver chuckle.

"Nice to know you don't care if Ellie starts dropping f-bombs all over the place as she gets older," he teases.

"She barely knows what her ball is, much less the less savory words in the English language." Felicity pauses. "Well, they can be very savory, depending on how you use them."

Her words have heat curling deep in his center, but now is so not the time. He still smoothes his hand down her side, reaching as far as he can, enjoying her curves.

"True," Oliver agrees.

And then he settles in, perfectly content.

It takes Felicity a little longer before she finally gives, and when she does, she does it with a sigh. She's annoyed with him, he can tell, and he also knows he deserves it because he's not exactly making things better right now. But she doesn't fight against him anymore, and he's so damn glad, because all he wants to do is hold his wife, cradling her where she fits perfectly into the crook of his arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hand resting gently over his heart.

The only thing missing…

"Momma?" Jules' voice sounds from the level below. Ellie babbles nonsensically at the sound of her sister's voice, rolling into Oliver in her excitement. Felicity lifts her head - no doubt to tell her to get her butt up there if she wants to have an actual conversation - but Jules is already speaking before either she or Oliver can say that. "Can I have another one?"

"You already finished the one you were eating?" Felicity asks, incredulity lining the words. Oliver gets in a soft, "Eating what?" before Felicity yells back at their daughter, "Why don't you come up here first?"

"But I'm hungry," Jules replies, her voice fading, knowing she's in a losing battle.

Felicity pauses before sitting up, much to Oliver's chagrin. "You think you can carry the box up here, Julie-bug?"

Oliver's eyes fly to Felicity with a start, because that doesn't sound like a good idea at all . Their daughter is definitely the most graceful out of all of them, but that doesn't mean she can clear all those steps carrying a box of pastries up the steps by herself. She tripped running up them with her basket of fairies the other day.

Felicity seems to think otherwise because she just pats Oliver's leg through the comforter.

The silence that follows her question is unnerving. Incredibly unnerving. The only movement for a long while is Ellie as she continually rolls onto her belly, ambling away on all fours before Oliver tugs her back, much to her never-ending amusement, prompting a torrent of giggles.

Finally - finally - they hear a soft determined grunt from the stairs, followed by a little puff of exertion. Oliver wants to get up and help, but even if he could, he knows he shouldn't, because his girl clearly has it all under control. But still… the urge is there. And it's in Felicity, too, as she grips his knee, her eyes on the door.

The second Jules comes into view, her mother grins.

"Nice job, Julie-bug!" Felicity crows, moving to stand up before changing her mind again. She waits instead, watching Jules carry the box to the bed. Oliver lifts his head just enough to catch sight of her, and the lance of pain through his side is so, so worth it when he sees Jules' adorable little face twisted in concentration, her brow heavy with focus, her lips pulled up in a proud smile that she couldn't hide even if she wanted to. Felicity pats the edge of the bed and Jules sets the box down. "Awesome work, baby girl," she says, patting the bed again to encourage her to climb up with them. "I'd say you earned that second cinnamon roll."

Jules' grin is huge , her eyes latching onto the pastry when Felicity pulls out another miniature cinnamon roll. And thank god for that because even half of the larger ones has the little girl zooming around the house like a lunatic. With him out of commission, that's the last thing Felicity needs today.

Not that two of those little ones isn't going to be a handful for her, but a sugar overdose would absolutely test the limits of her sanity.

He knows. He's made that mistake himself.

"Thanks, Momma," Jules says, immediately sinking her teeth into it. With a contented sigh, she settles in, scooting until she's leaning against Oliver's legs as her mother grabs a two glazed donuts, handing one to Oliver, keeping the other for herself. He takes it, but he doesn't eat it yet, nudging Jules through the blanket first instead. She turns to look at him, her long dark hair swinging with her every move. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed with her achievement. And her face is absolutely smeared with icing and cinnamon. He grins at her and she smiles back with a, "Morning, Daddy."

"Morning, baby," he replies.

Ellie's chubby hand suddenly appears in his line of sight, aiming for his donut.

"Hey!" he says, yanking it out of her reach. "You little butt."

Both his girls start giggling at that and it's music to his ears. Felicity is quick to join, adding to the beautiful symphony as she covers her mouth around the large bite of donut she just took.

He wants to hear more, so much more, and Oliver tries to lift his legs to pull Jules closer, but his wound stops him. But that's fine, because he still manages to push her with his knee, right against her side, making her laugh more as his fingers dance over Ellie's belly.

It's the best medicine in the entire world.

Before long Jules is done and after Felicity helps her wipe her hands clean, Oliver gestures for her to come closer. When she's hovering over him and Ellie, he whispers for her to start tickling her mom when Felicity grabs another donut. His wife doesn't make any indication that she hears the conversation, and maybe she doesn't because she absolutely does jump when Jules suddenly shoves her hands into her mom's armpits, making her yelp.

Laughter fills their room.

There's plenty to do that day. There always is, always something that needs to be done, or could be done, or should be done, but they take their time getting there, and not just because Oliver is wounded. They stay in bed because they want to, because they take the small family moments when they come along, treasuring them, knowing just how fleeting life can be.


	41. June 2045

**June 2045**

This is not really how Oliver had expected to spend Father's Day, but something about it feels oddly appropriate anyhow.

"You don't want to play with that, Little One," he says gently, intercepting tiny fingers as they reach for a row of razor-sharp arrows mounted on the wall. He kisses every single finger in turn, making the ten-month-old gurgle happily before she reaches for him instead. She's easily redirected.

The little toothless grin that greets him is just about the most joyful thing Oliver can remember having seen in the last twenty years. It's contagious, makes him smile with a depth that highlights the wrinkles around his eyes but paradoxically makes him feel decades younger.

But then his granddaughter has had that effect on him from the very first moment he met her.

Sylvia had been a surprise to all of them - a perfect little surprise in Oliver's eyes - and it's amazing to him now how much she's brought to their lives. Watching her discover the world around her, soaking in the way she's so quickly become an integral part of his family in every way, watching his children take on the role of parent and aunt and uncle… it's breathtaking, astounding.

It's something he hadn't really expected to have the privilege of experiencing. First, because he really hadn't expected to survive this long, then because it just didn't seem to be in the cards. Will's closing in on thirty-seven, still single. Jules had adamantly not wanted children. Ellie had made noise about adopting someday, but she's young yet. And Nate… well, Nate's twenty-three now and has yet to really figure out how relationships work. Oliver is sixty. He's sixty and sometimes he feels it. He hasn't exactly been kind to his body over the years and the aches and pains he endures are a whole lot more than the average newly-minted-senior-citizen. He'd sort of figured, if he ever _did_ become a grandfather, it would be years away and he wouldn't be really able to enjoy it.

Boy is he glad he was wrong.

"Ma?" Sylvia asks as Oliver scoops her up. She looks around the lair again with those huge, alert eyes of hers. They're so like her mother's. The color is different, but the size, the shape, the expressiveness, those are all her mother. In many ways, Sylvia takes after her dad, but not in her eyes. They're all her mom and they had Grandpa Oliver wrapped around her tiny finger from day one. He thinks they always will. "Mama?"

"Mama's out helping people," Oliver tells the infant gently. She probably doesn't understand. She's not even a year yet, after all, but his tone is soothing and familiar, and that seems to do the trick. "Both your parents are. They'll be back soon, Sylvie. How about for now you and Grandpa play?"

"'Anana?" Sylvia asks, reaching toward the bank of computers across the lair. Oliver smiles and kisses the dark hair at her temple. The only word she manages reliably so far is mama, but she's definitely trying to get a grip on others, experimenting with sound and pronunciation. And, this time, he knows what she means.

"Grandma's helping your mama, honey," he tells her. "She can play with us later."

Sylvia lets out a deep sigh through her little bow-shaped lips. It seems so much older, such a toddler thing to do, and Oliver wants to tell her to slow down, to hold on to the moment as much as she can. He knows he's going to.

"Would you like a story, Little One?" he asks.

Sylvia's whole face lights up at that and he's amazed once again that while she might not have a grasp on how to say a whole lot of words yet, she's a very bright little girl who understands a great deal of what's going on around her.

"Okay," he tells her, rubbing his hand against her back as she looks up at him adoringly. "Do you want a picture book or do you just want grandpa to make something up for you?"

She grabs for his face and pats his cheeks, so he takes that as an answer, kissing her little palm before heading back to the old play area in the lair that they'd set back up again last year just before Sylvia's arrival. Closing the baby gate behind him - something that had worked with limited success with his own children; Jules and Ellie had both been climbers - he sits down on a sofa against the far wall and leans back, settling Sylvia against his chest, where she happily curls up against him, attentively ready to hang on his every word. She's such a sweet baby, so openly affectionate and ready to absorb the details of the world around her.

"Once upon a time, there was a little princess named Sylvia," he starts off. She sticks a thumb in her mouth and smiles around it as she stares at him like nothing else in the world matters. "Sylvia was a very good princess. She cared about everyone in the whole kingdom and she was very kind. All of the villagers loved her very much and they were very happy."

A pile of drool collects against Oliver's shirt as he speaks, but that doesn't matter in the least. Nothing does other than the bright joy reflected in his granddaughter's eyes.

"But the kingdom hadn't always been peaceful. Years before, it wasn't even a kingdom yet. It was just a bunch of farms and houses and a few shops," he elaborates to Sylvia's rapt attention. "One man decided he was king, because he had the biggest farm and the most money, but he was not very good at it. He tried, but he made a lot of mistakes and he cared more about himself than the villagers. That made them sad.

"One day, the man who called himself king went on a trip away from the kingdom with his son. They got on a boat and sailed away, but they didn't come back. And the villagers were not good to each other. Their king had not made a good example for them to follow," Oliver tells her. "So, what do you think happened?"

"Ma!" Sylvia declares loudly.

Oliver chuckles. "Well, not yet, but we'll get there. Next, the king fell asleep from a wizard's enchantment while he was far away from home and he never woke up again. But the king's son spent many years on a secret island far away from the kingdom. It was very hard for him, but he learned that having the biggest farm and the most money did not make a king a good one. And, when he came back, he realized that he had to show the villagers that they needed to be good to one another if he wanted the kingdom to be a happy place. But he couldn't do that on his own."

If Oliver didn't know better, he'd have thought his granddaughter understood every single word he was saying. She's so focused on him that she doesn't even notice her beloved grandmother with her palms resting against the baby gate as she listens to the story. Oliver does, though. He's always attuned to Felicity.

"So the king's son - he's the new king now - he found friends who could help him teach the villagers to be kind. First he met a knight who was the truest friend he would ever have and the knight never left his side again because they had the same mission and they believed in each other. Then, the new king met the village inventor. She was very brilliant and very beautiful and he fell in love with her because she always saw the very best in him, even when he couldn't see it himself."

"Oliver…" Felicity's voice is quiet as she shakes her head at him, but Sylvia's head shoots up at the sound of her grandmother's voice anyhow. She doesn't pull away from her grandfather, but she does reach out with grabby fingers, clearly intent on pulling her grandmother close as well.

Felicity joins them in the gated-off play area and settles next to Oliver on the sofa. It's a tight squeeze, but that's okay. It's worth it. Sylvia wriggles between them and grabs her grandmother's hand with one small fist as she chews her other thumb and keeps her head resting on her grandfather's chest.

"The three friends went on secret missions surprising the villagers and showing them how to be kind when they forgot," Oliver continues. "Eventually, the king and the inventor got married. They had four children - two princes and two princesses - and they were very happy, even if reminding everyone to be nice to each other wasn't a mission that ever stopped. That was okay because their kids grew up and helped them too… in different ways. But they always did their missions in secret, because it was easier to remind people how to be nice when it wasn't the king and queen and their family who were doing the reminding. And it stayed that way for a long time.

"But, one day, one of the king's daughters, a princess, met a wonderful knight. He knew all about her secret missions to teach others to be kind and it was something that made him love her very much. Because he loved her, he decided he needed to help keep her safe on her missions and he started to help her," Oliver says. "The princess wasn't sure how to take that at first, but eventually she fell in love with him, too, and they got married. Then, they had Princess Sylvia."

Sylvia gurgles happily at her name and Oliver strokes her little cheek, keenly aware of his wife's gaze fixed on him.

"That's right. That's you," he tells the baby, tapping her nose. "But here's the amazing thing about Princess Sylvia… she doesn't need to help people be kind to each other in secret. Not unless she wants to. Because she is the sweetest, happiest little princess the kingdom's ever known and she makes people want to be good to each other just by being herself. So, you, Little One, get to choose whatever you want to do with your life. You're already a hero to the whole kingdom."

Something jostles Oliver lightly and he realizes after a second that it's his wife chuckling and shaking her head at him. "Oliver Queen, you are the sappiest grandfather in the history of Starling City. You know she's not gonna remember a word of that, right?"

"That's okay," he grins, pressing a firm kiss against the baby's plump cheek. "I'll tell her again. And again. And again. She likes stories."

"She does," Felicity agrees in amusement. "But she likes you more. I think she'd be happy if you were reading her the phone book."

"Well… if it would make her happy…" Oliver muses. His wife shoves his shoulder as she shakes her head and grins. Her hair is shorter these days, just past her shoulders, and she's been mulling giving up on dying it. There are gray streaks at her roots and he finds he really likes it.

"Who'd have thought?" she asks, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Back when that boy got lost at sea, before that, who'd have thought that party-boy Ollie Queen would be a love-struck grandpa making up fairy tales one day?"

No one. He knows that. Not before the island. He wonders briefly what his father would have made of his life. But, ultimately, he knows that doesn't matter. Not now. He has his own flaws, but they're nowhere near what his father's were. His father's legacy had been a burden of atoning for his sins. His will be one of love and unfailing support, of doing what's right even when it's hard. He loved his father. He loves him still, even nearly forty years after the man's death, but any illusions he'd had about his father's goodness have long since evaporated. And the life he lives, the one he's forged with the amazing woman at his side, is one of his own making.

"Ollie Queen would never have been that lucky on his own," Oliver tells her. "Not without some really amazing adventures with some truly incredible people along the way."

"Like the town inventor?" she asks, mouth quirking in amusement. Sylvia turns and grabs her lower lip, strumming it with her pointer finger and giggling when her grandmother gently grabs the finger between her teeth.

"It was that or psychic and I thought you'd prefer the science route," Oliver says.

"You'd be correct," Felicity laughs, releasing Sylvia's finger.

"They on their way back?" Oliver asks after a moment, nodding toward the computers.

"Mmm," Felicity confirms, stroking Sylvia's dark, silky hair. "Cynisca and Dart are gift wrapping Vengeance for the police. B-T-W, that's the actual worst villain name I've heard in years . Good luck avoiding that guilty verdict, dude. Anyhow, they literally put a bow on his head and handcuffed him to a light post in front of City Hall. They're sticking around for pick-up. Arsenal headed out. Tempest and Sentinel are on their way back in now."

"And Will?" Oliver ventures. "He was supposed to be here an hour ago. That's not like him."

"Brother… said he lost track of time. He called forty minutes ago and said he was on his way," Felicity notes with raised eyebrows.

"He lives like fifteen minutes away and he knew he was expected on the comms tonight," Oliver replies warily. "Where exactly is he coming from."

"He… did not say," Felicity replies primly. There's something about her voice that makes Oliver sit up a little.

"But?" he asks.

"But…" she elaborates. Her voice is slow and she over pronounces the words, dragging it out. "I'd bet there was a girl."

"He hasn't mentioned anyone," Oliver denies flatly. "It's not like he's the man he was a decade ago. He's not exactly the casual sort these days, not since that thing with that girl at QI."

"Yes, well… maybe this isn't casual," Felicity suggests, picking some nonexistent lint off of Sylvia's back.

"Felicity… do you know something?" Oliver asks. Every instinct he has tells him that his wife is keeping a secret and she's doing it rather poorly.

" Know is such a strong word," she says, rolling her eyes. Sometimes the years just melt away and she looks like that girl in the IT department all over again. It still makes his heart race. Everything about her does.

"Felicity."

"There was a woman's voice in the background," she finally admits. "He covered the phone, but it didn't muffle as well as he assumed it would. They definitely didn't sound casual, but I think it's sort of new, still."

"Yeah?" Oliver asks. It surprises even him how hopeful that makes him feel. Will's been clearly looking for an honest connection with someone for the last few years, but nothing's panned out for him and Oliver just wants to see his boy happy, supported, part of something real . He's not sure Will's ever had that.

"She mentioned having lunch with Beth," Felicity tells him. Her voice takes on a gossipy, hushed tone, but it's the words themselves that hit Oliver hard. Will absolutely would not introduce someone he was seeing casually to his baby sister and he definitely wouldn't encourage them to have any kind of a relationship. That this woman already knows Beth speaks volumes about what she means to Will.

"Maybe we need to invite Beth over for dinner," Oliver suggests. He's mostly kidding.

"Oliver Queen! You will not pump your son's baby sister for information about his love life!" Felicity protests with a laugh.

"There'd be food, too," he replies with an unabashed, boyish grin.

"Oliver!"

Felicity's laughter is interrupted by Sylvia's babble, an insistent "'Anananana" as she reaches for her grandmother with a tremendous yawn. Grandpa is all well and good right up until it's naptime, apparently. If she's sleeping, she wants her grandmother or her father. No one else will do.

"I'll let him come to me," Oliver relents, as if it was ever going to go any other way. "If he chooses to."

"I could be wrong," Felicity allows as Sylvia curls up against her chest. Felicity bounces the little girl slowly and her eyes flutter shut as she sucks her thumb and drifts away to sleep looking as comfortable as anyone has ever been. "It could've been a friend of Beth's. Maybe Beth stayed at his place last night and had some friends over. Maybe he just couldn't get them out the door. You know how teenageers are."

He does. He does and there's every chance she's right. That this is nothing. But he hopes not. He really, really does. For Will's sake.

"Sorry everything kind of went sideways today," Felicity murmurs to him. "I know this wasn't exactly what we had planned for your first Father's Day as a grandpa."

"It's okay," Oliver replies, watching Sylvia, her long, dark eyelashes resting against her cheeks as she slumbers secure in her grandmother's arms.

"Nate texted a bit ago, said he managed to get the restaurant to change our reservations for later," Felicity tells him.

"He pushed back reservations for a party of twelve on Father's Day?" Oliver asks in astonishment. "How?"

"If it were anyone else, I'd suggest a rather large bribe," Felicity tells him. "But since it's Nate, I'm guessing a lot of insistence and name-slash-title dropping."

She's likely right and he hums in agreement, wrapping an arm around her to hold her close as Sylvia naps away against her chest.

Will barrels into the lair a few minutes after that, all rushed apologies and rumpled clothes that Oliver could swear look like the same thing he wore yesterday. The masks of Team Arrow Two-Point-Oh, as Felicity dubbed them not all that long ago, pile in one-by-one a short while later, none the worse for wear, and Sylvia's father doesn't even bother to change out of his gear before taking his little girl from her grandmother.

When they get to the restaurant, they're two hours past their original reservation, but Nate's seated at an enormous table toward the back with a now-cold cup of coffee and a vintage business textbook absolutely covered in brightly colored post-it-notes. He abandons both in favor of his family, hugging his father immediately and dropping a kiss on his niece's head before pulling out his mother's chair for her. Connor, Lyla and Digg show up just a few moments later, completing their little group.

The night's activities shift quickly from cleaning up the city streets to cleaning their plates. Business changes to light teasing and easy conversation and Oliver finds himself leaning back in his chair watching as his girls both poke fun at a red-faced Will for showing up late - he's more and more convinced that Felicity's first instinct was right. Nate actually intercedes on his big brother's behalf right up until Ellie asks Nate who has him running late for things these days. He clams up at that, blushing furiously. That's enough to get both of the girls to turn on him and make Will's eyebrows shoot up in curious amusement. Sylvia clearly has no idea what's going on, but she gnaws away happily on a piece of bread and babbles wordlessly for attention - which she receives in heaps from absolutely everyone. That's excellent because she absolutely refuses to be put in a high chair.

Oliver soaks it all in. He's quiet, happy to observe his extended family in a relaxed, easy setting. Digg is, too, from the looks of things. His old friend sits at the opposite end of the enormous table, watching his kids with the same look of silent appreciation that Oliver knows he wears himself. Uncharacteristically quiet herself, Felicity's hand finds his beneath the table and her fingers squeeze his in gentle solidarity.

There are cards, of course, and a few presents - it's Father's Day, after all - but just being here, seeing this, is the best gift he could have ever asked for. And while this holiday has been wonderful in the past and will be for many years again in the future, there's something special about this year. This Father's Day - with his baby granddaughter and confident, brilliant, self-assured grown children - will stay with Oliver forever.


	42. October 2015

School had never been that exciting for Oliver, but this is different. Now, he's not sitting behind a desk trying to pass notes behind the teacher's back. He's William's dad. He gets to meet everyone who matters in his seven-year-old's day-to-day life. And that's a whole lot more exciting. He's practically giddy as he pushes his way through the elementary school doors and he and Will head to the school gym.

He'd be hard-pressed to decide which of them was looking forward to today more, actually, him or Will. The little boy vibrates with excitement like he's about to bounce off the walls under the influence of too much sugar. He's not, though. Not yet. That'll come later, because Oliver's figured out really fast that he's terrible at telling his son 'no' when it's something trivial. He doesn't get to see him enough as it is and if he can make his little boy smile just by sharing an ice cream or getting him a piece of candy then he's absolutely going to do it. Even if it makes Samantha sigh at him really, really hard when he drops him back off at her place with far more energy than is natural, even for a boy his age.

"Come on, Dad! Come on!" Will says, tugging with all his might. He's practically in a run, his eyes bright and happy as he leads his father toward where it sounds like the entire school is gathered.

Oliver wonders if his son will stop holding his hand once they're around his friends. What age does that start at? He doesn't know. But he hopes it's not yet because he loves the way his little boy's fingers fit in his. He doesn't get this often enough.

"Nothing starts for another fifteen minutes, buddy," Oliver chuckles. "What's your rush?"

"You've gotta meet Ms. Adams and Mr. Scheinhoft and Ms. Alvarez and all my friends because they don't even know you yet!" Will exclaims. It's a school fundraiser festival - the sort of thing where you buy a pile of tickets and play silly games for sillier prizes - but to Will it might as well be an Introduce-My-Dad party. Oliver can't even pretend to object. Will wanting to show him off might be just about the best feeling in the world.

"That sounds like a lot of people," Oliver tells him.

"It is," Will confirms with a very serious nod. "It's okay if you don't remember them all. I'll help you."

He's so earnest, sees it as his own personal mission, and Oliver finds himself yet again astounded by how lucky he is, how much he loves this little boy and how much his life has changed in the last year and a half. He's a father twice-over now, engaged to the most remarkable woman he's ever met and his crusade to save the city feels more like a quest to better the world for his kids than a struggle to redeem his own sins as well as his father's. He's happy.

"Ms. Adams is your teacher," Oliver recites. "And Mr. Scheinhoft is your music teacher?"

"Yes!" Will declares proudly, like his dad has just passed some kind of test. "And Ms. Alvarez teaches P.E.. That's super important, Dad. You gotta talk to her because she has suggestions for baseball teams and I told her you'd ask, okay? She thinks I could be really good and so do I and I wanna play."

Oliver's already done his own research - or, well, okay so Felicity did most of it - and he's got a couple of little league team possibilities in mind, but it really will be good to have a chat with his P.E. teacher because Will has taken to baseball in a way that Oliver could never have expected. He wonders how much of that is linked to that first day they met. He quietly hopes a lot of it. He loves the idea that he's had that kind of a positive impact on his son.

"Got it," he says. "Ms. Alvarez for baseball talk. Anything else I need to know?"

"No," Will tells him. "But I wish Julie-bug could be here. Mr. Scheinhoft said he'd bring the drums for us to play with in the courtyard and I bet she'd like that."

It's a heartwarming thought and Oliver can't help but smile. "She would," he agrees. "But she's still little, Will. I think she'd be overwhelmed here. Plus she'll need a nap before it's over. That's why Felicity is meeting us later. Grandma Donna is gonna come over and keep an eye on her while she naps."

"I know," Will sighs. "But I don't get to see her for two more whole weeks." It's a childish whine but Oliver can't let that bother him because the sentiment is so very heartfelt.

"How about I talk to your mom when she gets here and see if we can all meet up for dinner sometime this week?" Oliver suggests.

"Really?" Will asks, his eyebrows shooting up with excitement. "Can it be pizza?"

"Hold on, buddy," Oliver laughs. "I said I'd talk to her. No promises that we can work things out. But I'll see what we can do, okay? Let's get that figured out before we talk pizza."

"You're the best, Dad," Will declares, dropping his hand and diving in for an uninhibited hug. It hadn't taken very long for Will to warm up to him, after they met. But this… this is the kind of thing that surprised Oliver the most, the easy affection Will shows his family. Awkward though the conversation might have been, Oliver had actually thanked Samantha for that, for the way she's raised their son in his absence. She easily could have told Will all kinds of horrible things about him, shown him the worst of who his father had been and done irreparable damage to their relationship long before Oliver even knew his son existed.

But she hadn't.

She'd acted in their son's best interests, showing him only love and affection, telling him vague but positive stories about his father in those early years. For that, Oliver will always be grateful to his one-time fling. He might not know her that well, surely never loved her, but she's a damned good mom to their son.

Oliver drops a kiss atop his little boy's head. He's still perpetually amazed that he can do things like this - hug his son, show how much he means to him - and he breathes in the child's scent with a smile.

"You ready?" he asks, pulling back and tilting his head toward the gym door.

"So ready," Will confirms. "I'm like super ready. I was born ready."

Oliver grins and shakes his head. "Let's do it, then."

Will pushes open the gym doors with gusto before grabbing his dad's hand tightly. It's not that he's afraid to let go. Not at all. This is his school, his home turf, and he's very comfortable here. No, Oliver is pretty sure that Will is clinging to him entirely out of the desire to claim him, to declare in every way possible that this is his father, and suddenly Oliver wishes he'd pushed harder with Samantha to come to school events last year. It clearly means a lot to Will.

But, that doesn't mean that this'll be easy. In fact, the sudden lull when they walk into the room tells Oliver it'll be anything but simple. He's on record with the school as Will's dad, but Oliver's something of a public figure and it suddenly strikes him that he's very recognizable and even though Will has definitely told all of his friends about his father, he probably hadn't given many details.

"Jacob!" Will shouts to another little boy, waving furiously in the other kid's direction. The boys are all grins at each other and Will's friend's eyes slide over Oliver without an ounce of recognition. The boy's father, though, does a double-take. Oliver smiles back at the man, but even he knows it has to look nervous.

Because it is.

He hadn't realized quite how much he needs this to go well until this moment. In the past year, he's spent time with his son. They've gone to baseball games and played in the park and celebrated holidays. But, in a lot of ways, their relationship has still been private. The media, for some reason, has been slow to catch on and it's not like he's issued any kind of public statement about his son. For the most part, they've had the opportunity to grow their bond as father and son in a sheltered setting without the prying eyes of the public. That ends today. Today, Oliver's stepping outside of his own little world and into Will's. And that, he finds, is terrifying.

Will definitely doesn't share that assessment, though.

"This is my dad!" he announces. He sounds as proud as Oliver can even imagine and suddenly that's the only thing that matters. "Dad, this is Jacob, he's in my class and he's a really good worm finder."

"Worm finder?" Oliver laughs, soaking in the happiness on his son's face.

"Yup!" Will confirms. "He wants to be a worm farmer when he grows up. I might help and be a worm doctor, in case any of his worms get hurt."

"That sounds like a really specialized field," Oliver replies, amusement crinkling at the edges of his eyes.

"It is," Will replies.

"Will's a super helper, though. He'll be a really good worm doctor, Mr. Clayton," Jacob says. A strange tightness grips Oliver's features as he smiles back at the boy. It hadn't even occurred to him that Will's friends would assume his father had the same last name, but in hindsight it seems obvious.

"Oh, his name isn't Clayton. That's my name," Will laughs, shrugging it off easily.

"You can just call me Oliver. If that's alright with your dad, anyhow," Oliver tells the boy. "Or Will's dad. That works, too."

It seems to be the way Will refers to his friend's parents most frequently anyhow - Jacob's dad or Aiden's mom or Emma's parents. Their identities are boiled down to how they relate to their kids. It feels like another mask, another role that Oliver's taking on, but it's one he absolutely relishes.

"If, uh… if that's what you'd prefer, I suppose that's okay," Jacob's dad says a little anxiously. Yeah, there's no doubt at all in Oliver's mind that this man knows exactly who he is. That's something that's solidly confirmed when the other man extends his hand in greeting. "I've gotta admit that it sounds a bit strange to me, though, considering I work for your company. Down in the payroll department. It's good to meet you, sir. My name's Rick."

Oliver shakes the man's hand warmly. "We're not at work, Rick. My name's Oliver. And here I'd like to just be Will's dad. The rest doesn't matter right now. This is about him."

"Fair enough," Rick replies, nodding at him with something that looks like admiration. "I wasn't aware you had a son, actually."

"That's, uh…" Oliver starts, swallowing hard and rubbing the back of his own neck. It's Will who bails him out though and he does it in the most matter-of-fact way possible.

"Dad was lost on an island when I was born," Will informs his friend's dad. "He didn't even know about me. We only got to meet last summer, but it's been the best, cause now I have a dad and he's awesome!"

Oliver can't help the lump that forms in his throat or the way his eyes water at that and he doesn't even try. Instead, he pulls Will close for a hug and murmurs a quiet, "You're awesome, too, Bud. I'm really lucky that I get to be your dad."

It's meant only for Will's ears, but when Oliver looks back toward Rick, it's clear the other man heard, too. Oliver has the sense that he's being reassessed and that he suddenly has a whole lot more respect from Jacob's father than he had before.

"Did you see all the stuff you can win?" Jacob asks Will. He's every bit as bubbly with excitement as Will has been. "There's fish! That'd be cool, right? We could feed them worms."

"Cool!" Will declares before looking back up at his father. "Can I go look with Jacob, Dad? Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," Oliver agrees. "Just stay where I can see you."

"We gotta see how many tokens we need to win for the fish! Come on!" Jacob says urgently, grabbing Will by the wrist and dragging him in the direction of the prize display.

Oliver watches the boys run over to the prizes with wide eyes, their heads tilt toward each other conspiratorially as they plot precisely what they're going to save their tokens for. Something tells Oliver that he's going to wind up spending an absurd amount of money to win his son a fish. It's fine. He'd already planned on writing the school a pretty large check.

"Good of you not to mention that feeding worms to the fish might go against his mission to be a worm doctor," Rick notes from his side.

Oliver chuckles at that and glances at the other man. "Well, he hasn't taken an oath to do no harm yet, so I guess it's okay for now." He pauses for a moment while he mulls over exactly what he wants to say next. "It seems like he and Jacob are close. Will talks about him a lot."

"They are," Rick confirms. "Will's a good kid. We live a few streets over from him and the boys mess around outside after school pretty often… I'm a little surprised about you, I've got to admit. Will's obviously mentioned spending the weekend with you before, but I didn't know you were… you."

"Because to Will, I'm just his dad," Oliver replies. "He doesn't give a damn that I'm Oliver Queen. Neither does his mom, for that matter."

He's busy watching the boys, but he can feel Rick's eyes on him, adjusting his preconceived notions and assumptions with every word.

"Well, Will's dad, welcome to Pine Creek Elementary," Rick tells him. "Seeing as this is your first time at one of these things, care for a bit of advice?"

"Always," Oliver agrees, folding his arms and sparing the other man a glance.

"Jackie's the one in the jean jacket with the flowery skirt over there, don't let her corner you or you'll wind up volunteering for something. Probably more than one something. She's also the head of her homeowner's association and that probably tells you everything you need to know about her," Rick advises.

"Good tip," Oliver agrees. "Anything else?"

"Mark, over by the fruit punch with the backwards ballcap… he will talk your ear off about sports. Nick's in the leather jacket next to him and he's got a start-up company he's working on so I'd avoid him at all costs because he will hit you up to be an investor."

Well, that's a solid piece of advice and Oliver finds he's exceedingly grateful to Rick as he listens intently and keeps an eye on the boys, who've moved on to some kind of spy kit that they've clearly decided they also need to save for.

"And Diane, Kimberly's mom… she'll be here at some point," Rick says with a wince. "You'll know who she is because she'll be the one in the lowest cut shirt in the room and some kind of animal print high heels. She got divorced at the start of the year and she's… aggressive."

"I'm engaged," Oliver tells him.

"Yeah, and I'm married, but that doesn't seem to mean much to her," Rick notes.

Lovely. But, Oliver's very familiar with attention from women and he knows how to politely turn someone down. Still, this is Will's school and he's so very grateful for all the inside knowledge Rick's sharing.

"My fiancee will be here as soon as her mom shows up to watch our daughter," Oliver informs Rick. "Hopefully that'll help."

"It'll be good to see Felicity," Rick says, surprising Oliver. "She fixed my computer more than once back when she worked in IT. She's sweet, funny, smart as a whip. I always liked her, especially since no one else in IT is half as good at computers. We've all missed her since she moved up to your office."

"She's overqualified for her job," Oliver admits. "But I'm underqualified for mine and I don't know what I'd do without her."

"What's any man without a good woman at his side?" Rick asks with a shrug. "I know I'm lost without my wife. She's on a business trip this whole week and I swear I don't know how she balances everything she does with the house and the kids and her job. I'm ready to hire a maid and get takeout every night."

Oliver can't help but laugh at that, but the sound dies off as he realizes someone is closing in on them. "Aw, damn," Rick winces. "That'd be Principal Meyers. He's gonna want money… and Tanya's on his heels. She's the president of the PTA and she's gonna want you to volunteer for something."

Rick says this like it's a bad thing but Oliver doesn't quite see it that way. He likes the idea of giving back to Will's school. The money part is easy. He's more than happy to give the school whatever it wants and then some. The volunteering part feels more meaningful, though. And it might give him a chance to spend some extra time around Will that isn't their every-other-weekend set-up.

Speaking of Will, the little boy and his friend chatter away as they make their way back to Oliver and Rick. That's nice, because it means Oliver doesn't have to divide his attention as much, keeping an eye on Will across the room as he chats.

And he definitely has a conversation coming because it's very obvious from the look on the principal's face that he knows exactly who Oliver is. In fact, Oliver wouldn't be surprised if the other man has been keeping an eye out for him ever since he was added to Will's emergency contact form.

"Mr. Queen," the principal greets, shaking Oliver's hand a bit too firmly. "It's so good to finally meet Will's father."

"I'm glad to be here," Oliver replies, resting his free hand on Will's shoulder.

"You must be so proud of your son," the principal continues. "He's a smart, friendly boy. We're very happy to have him here with us as part of our Pine Creek family. "

"Everybody likes Will," Jacob pipes up. "He's funny and makes bubbles with his chocolate milk behind the lunch monitors' backs."

Will just grins and shrugs, completely unashamed of his innocent rule-breaking tendencies. He'll do anything for a laugh, though, whether that's for his family or his friends. Oliver's well aware that his son is a bit of a class clown. He'd have known that even without being told. And while Will is surely a smart kid, it's not like he's exceptionally beyond his classmates. So, it feels more than a bit like he's being pandered to by the principal right now and that rubs Oliver the wrong way.

"I'm always proud of Will," Oliver says easily. His boy leans into him with a gentle affection that makes Oliver smile even without looking down at him. "And I'm glad to have finally had a chance to see his school."

"We're a great little school," the principal starts before launching into a painfully long speech that he'd probably prepared long ago about the financial challenges they face due to budget constraints. Oliver can't blame Rick a bit when he and Jacob disappear. It's impressive how long the principal can talk without taking a breath, but Oliver finally manages to get a word in edgewise after a few minutes.

"I completely understand," he says, very aware of the way Will's begun to fidget next to him. He wants to get to the games and prizes. Of course he does. He's seven. "That's why I'm planning on matching anything you raise tonight twice over," he continues to the principal's delight. "Provided you keep my name out of it."

He glances at Will, but his son's paying no attention to the conversation going on right in front of him. He's too distracted by his friend Jacob doing his level-best to sink a basketball as many times as he can before the buzzer runs down. That's the sort of thing he should be focused on and Oliver finds he's quite done having the conversation with the principal and the PTA president standing silently at his side.

"That's quite generous, Mr. Queen," the principal says with a pleased smile. "We could surely use it."

"Absolutely," Oliver confirms. "And if there's anything else you need, just let me know."

"Actually," Tanya, the PTA president, continues. "Before you step away - I'm sure there's plenty Will wants to do here - we'd love to see you involved in a few school events."

"Dad, can we do the hoop shots next? I bet you could get a lot and we could win so many tokens! It might even be enough for a fish," Will pleads.

"Sure, buddy," Oliver tells him. "But I think you're supposed to be the one who takes the shots."

Will's little brow furrows seriously at that and he nods with determination. "I'm further from the basket so I bet you'd do better, but I'll try."

"That's my boy," Oliver grins, ruffling his hair before looking back at Tanya. "I'd love to be involved with more school events. My schedule is pretty tight but if you e-mail me, we'll make something work. My e-mail's on file with the school."

"Actually, Mr. Queen," Tanya says as Will tries to drag him away toward the basketball hoop. "We had something that you might be able to help with today. One of the booths. We're a little short-handed."

"Sure," Oliver agrees right away, his attention honed in on Will. "As soon as Samantha or my fiancee get here to help keep an eye on Will, I'll be happy to help however I can."

"Perfect!" Tanya says with toothy delight.

Oliver doesn't think about that overly thrilled grin again for quite some time, doesn't analyze it at all as he and Will work their way through virtually all of the games and half of the junk food available. By the time he meets all of Will's teachers and Samantha gets there, he's forgotten about it entirely.

"How many tickets did you buy him?" Samantha asks in astonishment as she takes in the miniature mountain of cheap toys Will's amassed along with three fish in little plastic baggies. Oliver's pretty sure they won't eat worms, but he hasn't had the heart to tell Will that.

"It's for a good cause," Oliver says with what he feels is his most charming smile. It doesn't work on Samantha. It never does. She's immune, has been since pretty much the instant she found out she was pregnant with Will.

"Totally a good cause," Will agrees, backing up his dad. "Mr. Meyers said the computer lab can probably get all new machines and the baseball field is gonna get redone because of how many games we played! Isn't that awesome?"

He's so very happy - a blinding grin taking over his face, showing off his loose tooth near the front - and while Oliver's charm might get him nowhere with Samantha, their son's definitely does.

"That is awesome, Will, you're right," she agrees. "It's just…"

"It's his school, Sam," Oliver points out. "It's helping him and hundreds of other kids. I'm not buying him piles of toys."

She gives him the most incredulous look he's ever seen and points at the mass of toys piled in front of Will. Okay… so she has a point. Kind of.

"You know that's not why I bought so many tickets," Oliver sighs, feeling like they're about to launch into this debate for the millionth time. It never gets too involved in front of Will - they're both more cautious than that - but he's tired even considering going rounds with her about buying things for Will again.

"I know it's not entirely why you bought so many tickets," she corrects. Oliver grits his teeth to keep from replying and turns his attention back to Will, who's sucking on a lollipop and staring at his fish. He wraps an arm around his boy and leans back against the gym wall, crossing his feet at the ankles.

Will leans his head against his father with a happy little hum before looking up at his mom. "Do you want a lollipop, Mom?" he asks. "I've got plenty. I saved you the lime ones 'cause I know they're your favorite."

She sits on Will's other side, sandwiching the boy between his parents and holds out a hand palm-up. Will roots around his pile for a neon green lollipop and places it in his mom's hand like it's the best present he's ever come up with.

"Thanks, kiddo," she tells him unwrapping it and popping the sweet into her mouth. "I missed you," she says around the candy. "Did you have a good weekend with your dad?"

"Yup!" Will confirms. His tongue is bright red from his lollipop. "Jules is walking! I helped her. Dad got it on video. You wanna see?"

"Will, I don't think your mom-" Oliver starts, but Samantha cuts him off.

"Sure," she says, surprising him. "I love seeing you with your sister. You make such a great brother."

"I do," Will nods. It's so matter-of-fact. He's so secure in that fact that it's both heart-warming and astonishing.

"I'll text it to you later, Sam," Oliver says before kissing his boy atop his head again while Samantha rubs their son's shoulder.

"This is nice," Will says after a minute. "I like spending time with both of you at once." Oliver's heart sinks a little at that, because if Will's convinced himself that there's any shot whatsoever for his parents to wind up together… "It'd be better if Felicity were here too, though," Will adds and Oliver breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

"Soon," Oliver tells him. "I'm kind of surprised she's not here yet. Jules must have had trouble falling asleep."

"Because I'm not there," Will says, shaking his head. "She misses me."

The damned thing of it is, Oliver's not sure he's wrong.

But there's no time to ponder that because it's then that he spots the PTA president, Tanya, waving at him. Damn… he'd actually forgotten. "Sam, I promised Tanya I'd man one of the booths after you got here, if that's okay."

She blinks owlishly at him in response. "You're manning a booth?"

"Well, yeah," Oliver confirms warily. "They said they could use some help and I'd really like to be more involved with the school. Is that okay?"

There's a moment where she just stares at him before shaking her head. "You never cease to surprise me, Oliver," she tells him.

She'd thought it was just money he was looking to provide, he realizes. She'd thought he'd wanted to throw cash at the school and call it good. That's sobering, to know it's what his son's mom thinks of him, but they don't actually know each other all that well and he guesses he can't blame her for jumping to the wrong conclusion. She probably would have been right about the boy she'd had a week-long winter-break-fling with eight years ago. But he's not that guy. Not anymore. Not after that damned island and everything that's happened since.

"Sure," she agrees. "Go run a booth for Tanya. We won't leave without saying goodbye."

Will hugs him one more time before he stands up and heads over toward Tanya. In the background, he can hear his son casually mentioning that he said they could go out for pizza later this week, so that's gonna be another fun conversation with Sam later. But he lets that fade away as he closes in on Tanya, intent on making a good impression.

"How can I help?" he asks.

"Oh good," Tanya says with a slightly frazzled sigh as she holds the tablet she was managing things on against her chest. "Mike has a cold so he had to bow out, but we need someone for the dunk tank. Mind getting drenched for a good cause?"

It doesn't take years of finely-tuned senses to pick up on the sudden lull as the attention of a fair bit of women tuned in to hear his response.

"A cold, huh?" he asks, pulling his sweater over his head and taking his wallet and phone from his pocket.

"Sure," Tanya agrees, taking the objects he'd prefer to keep dry in hand. She's lying. Oliver knows that immediately, but to her credit she doesn't seem to have any intention of hiding it. "That and we'll raise a whole lot more money if people get to dunk Oliver Queen than the school counselor."

"Alright," Oliver chuckles, toeing off his shoes and shaking his head. "I get it. Mind if my son gets the first pitch?"

"If you're willing to get soaked, I think we can let him kick things off," she confirms.

Will can't quite manage it, as it turns out. He's too focused on how hard he can throw and - in spite of his definite baseball skills - he obviously feels the pressure of a very large crowd watching him intently. The fourth grader who comes up after him, however, has a whole lot more luck.

And that's how Oliver Queen winds up soaked to the bone in a white t-shirt and jeans with far louder cheers from entirely too many adult women for an elementary school fundraiser when his fiancee shows up.

He spots her right away, grinning and winking at her right before some fifth grader nails the bullseye and sends him into the water yet again. She looks amused and more than a little astonished at first glance. None of that fades away when he gets back up on the perch and swipes at his face with the bottom of his shirt to the unabashed appreciation of an entire gaggle of soccer moms.

"One more?" he asks, glancing toward Tanya, who nods in agreement. He's been at this a while at this point, so it's not like she's about to protest.

"I wanna go again! Can I do it? I bet I can get him this time. I know I can." Will's basically jumping up and down on the balls of his feet, tugging Samantha's arm. Felicity appears at his other side a moment later, handing him a few tickets she must have bought at the door.

"Soak him, Will," she commands as Samantha looks on in bemused delight.

"Yes!" Will cheers, actually raising a fist in triumph - something Oliver is more than certain he picked up from Felicity.

The look of sheer concentration that takes over his little face as he grabs a ball and studies the target is utterly adorable. It takes everything Oliver's got not to laugh out loud at his furrowed forehead and knit-together eyebrows.

"Feels kind of unfair, you using things I taught you against me," he tells Will, wiping away some water from his eyes and shaking out his hair.

"You're the one who put yourself in the tank, Dad," Will points out.

Oliver does laugh aloud at that. "You've got a point. Take your time. Watch your footing and follow through. You've got this, kiddo."

"You're helping me?" Will asks, blinking at him with stunned, wide eyes. "I'm trying to dunk you. I'm the enemy right now."

"I'll always help you, Will," he promises immediately. "No matter what. Now… breathe evenly, set your feet and when you're ready, give it a good throw. You don't need to hit the target hard. Accuracy is more important."

Will nods and his focus returns back to the target. He chews his lip, undoubtedly aware of exactly how many pairs of eyes are on him. Pitching's never been his strongest suit in baseball, but it is his favorite part of the sport, and his aim's gotten much better over the last year. So, Oliver's not surprised when his boy hits the bullseye dead center on his first attempt and the ledge drops out beneath him, sending him falling into the water yet again. But just because he saw it coming doesn't make the surge of pride that wells up any less all encompassing.

The absolute joy on Will's face as he cheers his own success is utterly contagious. Oliver barely has enough time to wipe the water from his face after he climbs out of the tank before Will barrels into him for a soaking wet hug.

"I did it, Dad! I got you!" Will declares. He doesn't seem to care at all that he's now awfully wet as well.

"You did. I knew you could, buddy," Oliver replies, hugging him tightly then stepping back to give him a high five. Their hands meet with a loud, wet slap and Will's sneakers squeak against the gym floor as he jumps up in excitement.

"I get more tokens!" Will realizes brightly. "I think now I can get the ant farm!" Oliver cringes at that because that cannot possibly go over well with Samantha, but Will darts off in the direction of his mother before Oliver has a chance to say anything. He watches after his boy with a small grin that reaches his eyes and a quietly affectionate shake of his head right up until someone hands him a towel and a feminine hand lands on his bicep.

He sort of assumes it's Felicity. It's a natural assumption. She's here after all and no longer standing next to Samantha where he'd last seen her. Plus, it's been quite some time since another woman has touched him more intimately than a handshake.

And yet… when he wipes his face with the towel handed to him and opens his eyes, he finds he's staring at a pair of leopard print high heels that his fiance absolutely does not own.

He knows because her shoes take up a solid half of his side of the closet.

"Uh… hi. Thank you," he says, looking up with a tight smile at the woman in front of him. "For the towel."

She's still patting his wet arm, making a half-hearted attempt to dry him off but mostly just letting her hand linger. "You're welcome," she purrs, sporting a cat-that-ate-the-canary toothy grin.

Oliver would prefer to back up, but there's really nowhere to go, so he edges to the side slightly. Her hand drops, so there's that at least, but her body language is all suggestiveness and Oliver can't remember the last time he was this uncomfortable in a woman's presence.

Yes he can. Last year, at the beach with his then-pregnant girlfriend. Just remembering how that had gone makes him swallow hard as he instinctively tries to inch away further.

"So you're Will's dad? I'm Diane, Kimberly's mom," the woman tells him. Like she doesn't know exactly who he is. She does. He knows that look on her face, is very familiar with the way someone's eyes light up when he's Oliver Queen, like he's an idea more than a person.

"Oliver," he returns, pleasant-but-fake smile firmly affixed to his face as he tries to calculate how he can get away without being overly rude. "And I should, uh…"

"Will's fine," Diane tells him, waving off his pending excuse. "Samantha's got him." Sure enough, she does. The two of them are back over at the prize table where Will is clearly pleading for his ant farm. She tosses Oliver an annoyed look, but it morphs into somewhere between pity and amusement when she takes in Diane's presence and his obvious discomfort.

So… at least someone thinks this is all funny.

"We should set up a playdate," Diane says. Her voice is the closest thing to a coo Oliver can think of. It's so painfully awkward that he's not actually sure what to do. "Grab a cup of coffee… get to know each other. Let the kids play together."

"Are they friends?" Oliver asks skeptically. He's never heard Will mention Kimberly.

"They could becomes friends," she answers, hand resting on his arm again. "We could, too."

"Hi."

Felicity's left hand settles on his shoulder, her engagement ring shining brightly in what has to be an intentional move to show it off. His arm wraps around his fiance like he's using her as a buffer, as a shield. And okay he sort of is, but only because this is Will's school and it's his first time here. Normally, he's more than adept at sidestepping interested women - it's not like they're a rarity in his life - but it's so important to him to make a good impression here, to be accepted as Will's father, and it leaves him a little uncertain on how he's supposed to react.

"I'm Felicity. Oliver's fiance. And you are?" she asks. Her voice is overly sweet, sickeningly so, but there's a level of amusement beneath it that he's tentatively relieved to hear.

"Diane," the woman returns, shaking Felicity's hand before looking back toward Oliver as if Felicity weren't even there. "Oliver and I were just talking about getting our kids together for a playdate sometime."

Our kids.

Her emphasis leaves no question about who she considers the parents in this situation and Felicity, in her mind, does not count.

Felicity's hand grips against his shoulder a little harder at being left out of the equation and he finds himself stroking her side to soothe or support her, whichever she needs right now. She takes her role as Will's stepmother to heart and Oliver's not sure there's anything the other woman could have said to upset her more than cutting her out of Will's family.

"I'm sorry, but you should probably take that up with Samantha," Felicity tells her. "When our son is with us, we use that for family time. You understand, I'm sure."

"Of course," Diane replies. Her voice is pleasant but Oliver doesn't buy for a second that it's genuine. "Well, I should go check on my daughter. It was good to meet you, Oliver. And… I'm sorry, this is rude, but I can't seem to remember your name."

"Oh, that's fine," Felicity smiles. "I don't think we'll be crossing paths much in the future."

It's both dismissive and the rudest Oliver's ever heard his fiance and he finds himself blinking at her in surprise as Diane huffs and walks off. Felicity watches her go with an overt glare for a moment before uttering a disgruntled sound of annoyance and dropping her hand from Oliver's shoulder.

He very nearly holds his breath as he waits for her reaction.

"So, that's the sort of pick-up lines a Wisteria Lane soccer mom uses, huh?" she asks. The lightness in her voice actually doesn't sound forced and Oliver cautiously lets out a long, hesitant breath of relief. "Who knew 'playdate-and-chill' was a thing?"

"Felicity," he protests, wincing a little at the jibe.

"No, no, this is super interesting, Oliver," she tells him, resting a hand on his chest, right over his Bratva tattoo and stroking lightly with her nails against the wet fabric. "How does this all work? Like, is it a 'your playground or mine' situation? Or is there carpooling? Is someone asking for a ride?"

She's clearly having fun and she thinks it's at his expense, but her amusement is contagious and she's clearly forgotten that he doesn't embarrass easily. His teenage years spent alongside Tommy Merlyn had all but ensured that.

Licking his lips, Oliver sets a hand on his fiance's hip and leans in, tilting his head toward hers. "Honey, anytime you want a ride, all you need to do is say so."

"Oliver Queen," she gasps, eyes widening. She looks equal parts scandalized and delighted.

"Felicity Smoak," he counters. If his fingers splay a touch wider on her hip than is really appropriate for his son's elementary school gym, well… that's just too bad. He's not sorry.

"Not for long," she grins. "Just another year and then I'm Felicity Queen."

God, he'll never get tired of hearing that. His heart utterly flips at the sound of her first name with his last. He hadn't expected her to take his name. Not really. He'd sort of thought she might hyphenate. He'd been quietly hoping she would, because he had never thought she'd just take his last name entirely. But she'd surprised him.

"You already are in all the ways that matter," he reminds her, dipping down to kiss her softly. It's gentle, emotionally charged but in a quiet way, and when he pulls back he somehow feels stronger and more at ease than before. "I'm sorry about that woman."

"I suppose I can't blame her taste," Felicity muses. "But none of that was your fault, Oliver. You looked like a terrified, cornered puppy dog or something."

"A puppy dog?" he asks incredulously.

"A drenched one," Felicity confirms. "It was both cute and kind of sad. I felt compelled to rescue you. So here I am. Your hero."

"You've always been my hero," he replies immediately with a toothy grin.

"Well…. That's good," Felicity says, pride and maybe a touch of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, "because you're mine, too."

"Makes us a hell of a team," he points out. "And an even better family."

"Yeah. It does," she agrees, biting her lip and smiling up at him with unmasked affection that it still floors him to see directed at him from her on a daily basis. "Now, let's get outta here and get you dried off. I made plans to meet our son and his mom for dinner… and to take custody of an ant farm and several fish, because we are not dumping those on Samantha. She isn't the one who's a pushover for our little boy, now is she?"

He winces at the thought of an ant farm in their house, but it's half-hearted at best, and he finds himself nodding before he even realizes it. Felicity slips her hand into his and squeezes his fingers. And suddenly that, his son's raucous laughter from across the room, and the knowledge their baby girl is safe and sound at home with her grandmother is absolutely everything Oliver needs.


	43. September 2014 - Later in the month

**September 2014**

"If you do this, Oliver, I will never forgive you."

His response comes in the form of his little smile growing bigger.

Aggravation washes through her. She's tired and cranky, and the reality of that only darkens her mood. They're supposed to be enjoying a fun, comfortable day on the private beach of their rented beach house. She should be happy as a frakking clam, because they've been enjoying some much-needed private time over the last few weeks, taking a _'just us'_ drive down the coast before her pregnancy starts dominating everything. But instead of feeling joyful and relaxed, she wants to throw sand at Oliver's smug, too-perfect face. She wants to go back to the house and take a nap in that huge bed by herself for three days straight. She wants to have a huge glass of wine. But she can't do any of those things - well, she _can_ , but she won't be doing them because she's a good person.

It doesn't help that he's trying to cheer her up. She doesn't want to be cheered up. Being cranky is bad enough, but his obvious need to perk her up is somehow worse. Her emotions are all over the place, dictated by the irrational desires of her hormones. These days, she goes from being so happy her soul hurts to crying because someone accidentally stumbled over her sandals to raging because she walked out of the house earlier to find a woman with a string for a bikini trying to rub suntan lotion on Oliver's shoulders.

She'd been _fine_ , though. She'd been coping, because she's a rational person. At least, that was true for the last few hours.

But now Oliver's staring at her with mischief in his eyes and instead of making her giggle, it's making her glare.

"I'm not kidding." Felicity holds her finger up in warning. "I will never forgive you. _Ever_."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, I believe me," she insists, taking a step back. Her feet sink into the ground, effectively burying them in sand, and she curses inwardly, knowing it's not going to give her any advantages. Oliver matches her step, not giving up. In fact he looks ready to play this game all day. And not just for her, but because he wants to, because he likes making her smile, even if he pisses her off in the process. The heavy cloud over her head starts to magically lessen, that smile he's seeking finally creeping forth, making her lips twitch. The intensity in his eyes quadruples at the sight and she shivers. But she's still angry... Isn't she? Felicity raises her eyebrows. " _Oliver_."

"Felicity."

He drags her name out, intention dripping from every syllable.

"I'm serious," she says, a little breathlessly.

"So am I," he says, his voice low, knowing he's getting through to her.

Oliver narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly. He's reading her body language, predicting her next move before she even makes it. Felicity's stomach bottoms out, white hot heat flooding her. No, she does _not_ find this sexy, she doesn't. _Calm down, body. Be cool._ That's a little hard, though, when hormones are zipping through her at lightning speed. And right now they're encouraging the always-present hunger for this man that tugs deep in her core, igniting her nerves, setting them on fire until she's aware of _everything_.

The sun is hot against her skin, a warm breeze brushing through her wavy hair, the sand soft under her feet…

And Oliver is staring at her like she's his next meal.

Desire slams into her.

Felicity's mouth parts with a pant, her nipples hardening under her bathing suit. It's her only two-piece suit that still fits thanks to the simple ties that allow a little room for growth, although it's starting to reach barely-there levels with her burgeoning pregnancy. The only reason she'd worn it was because of the look on her boyfriend's face when she asked him if she looked alright.

That look is back now.

Felicity tries to think outside the need crackling between them, but her skin is tight and itchy, and when he crouches, like he's ready to pounce, her sex throbs. She clenches her thighs together, and she swears he knows exactly what she's doing. And why.

Oliver smirks. She glares at him.

"No," Felicity says.

He grins with a wicked, "Yes," before diving for her.

Felicity shrieks, dodging back. He's too fast, though. His arms are around her before she can blink and he's hauling her up into his arms like she weighs nothing, jogging to the gentle ocean waves. Felicity's harried shouts for him to put her down are met with laughter and he doesn't slow down in the least, running right into the water.

It doesn't escape her attention that he's so damned careful with her, cradling her to his chest, making sure she isn't jostled too much. Ever since the actual evidence of her being pregnant had started showing, his touches had become gentler, softer, more cautious, like he was afraid she'd break if he did _anything_ too hard. More than once she's felt the need to poke him for it, even yell at him a few times, but then she hears the pure joy and happiness in his voice - like right now - and she reels it back in. Because it is sweet, annoying as it is. He loves her, and she feels it in his every single look, touch and whisper. It's becoming damn near worshipful as her pregnancy progresses.

 _It's worth it_ , she thinks... even if he's gentler in _every_ aspect of their lives, much to her chagrin.

Well, she used to to think it was worth it, until he stops where the small waves hit his waist and lifts her away from his body.

Like he's going to _drop_ her into the water.

Felicity gasps, one hand grasping the nape of his neck, the other gripping his hand at her back, digging her nails into his flesh. "Oliver, don't you _dare_ -"

He doesn't let her finish. Oliver drops into the ocean, taking her with him.

It's nowhere near cold thanks to the heatwave beating down on the California beach, but it's still a shock against her heated skin and she cries out before holding her breath as they go under. They get rocked to and fro with small waves as Oliver pushes off the sea floor, walking in deeper. He never lets her go, not once. He keeps her close, letting her legs go so she can wind them around his waist as he carries them further into the water, coming up for air a few seconds later.

"I can't believe you did that," Felicity sputters, making a show of it, wiping hair off her face and swatting at his shoulders. "You are in so much trouble."

Oliver chuckles. "Is that a promise?"

He keeps moving until the water is at their chests. He wraps one arm around her back, his other hand sliding down to her bottom, keeping her pressed as firmly against him as he can with her growing belly. Oliver moves with the waves, the water buoying them, pushing her against his muscled body in very pleasing ways that are making her insides warm and fuzzy.

She's still annoyed with him, though, and she isn't about to let his sexiness get in the way of that.

"You and I are going to have a-" Felicity starts.

Oliver's mouth covering hers cuts her off.

It's amazing. There's ocean water and a lingering hint of the juice they were drinking earlier on his lips. The sweet and salty mix combined with _him_ is delicious, sparking a flame of need in her center. She wants more. _Damn him._ She wants to argue and yell at him, but he's her kryptonite and he's far too aware of that knowledge. Her pregnancy has only made it worse. Her need for him has positively skyrocketed, much to his enjoyment, to the point that sometimes a simple touch turns into her throwing herself at him. Or dragging him into a closet. Or making them late for work. Or surprising him at the soon-to-be QC site where he spends a surprising amount of time checking on the rebuild.

He kisses her more fully, running his tongue over the seam of her lips, and any bit of control either of them might have laid claim to dissolves.

Felicity melts, opening for him. Her hands wind through his wet hair, her back arching to get closer to him. She presses her full breasts into his chest and his eager growls mix in with her moaned sigh when her sensitive nipples smash against the wall of muscle. His hand on her ass pushes her against the growing hardness in his swim trunks. _Yes_. Oh, she loves these trunks. They're thin and she feels _everything_. The hard ridge of his arousal pushes against her sex, and it's a heady combination with the warm water flowing around them.

The kiss quickly becomes heated, their tongues tangling, their movements gaining a frantic edge to them. Needy heat coils in her center, spiraling out, pleasure flooding her veins. She had to watch him walk around in those damn shorts all day - hell, it was torture enough watching him put them on this morning - and she's ready to rip them off right now and have her way with him. She doesn't care where they are, or that they're in an actual bucket of seawater or that the private beach isn't actually _private_ -private.

She isn't alone. Oliver makes the most amazing sounds, his hips jerking into hers, his fingers gripping her hard. Felicity cups his face, angling his head to deepen the kiss. He instantly complies and she pushes her hands back into his hair, making tight fists, rotating her hips against his. Oliver's hold on her tightens even more, to the point of pain as he yanks her closer.

Oh yes, yes, _yes_ , she wants all of that, right now.

He knows it and maybe it's the water or that they haven't made love since last night - which feels like forever these days - she isn't sure, but he attacks with her with equal ardor, his hand pushing up her back.

The strings holding her bikini top on come apart under his fingers. The relief is sweet as water rushes freely over the newly exposed skin of her breasts. A wave hits them a second later, nearly taking her top with it.

Felicity pulls back with a ragged, "Oliver," as she plasters herself to him to keep her top in place. He's panting, his breath hot against her lips. He doesn't move, responding only to her voice, waiting before he kisses her again. "My top," she explains.

It takes him a second, but then he realizes what she's saying. His hand splays across her upper back, no longer feeling her bikini.

"Oops," he breathes, a devilish grin covering his face. She's ready for him to carry her to where she can actually touch the ocean floor and re-tie her top, protecting her from any wandering eyes on the beach. But he doesn't do any of that. He doesn't let her go, instead turning so her back is to the ocean horizon as he holds her close, his hand slipping around to her front.

"Oliver," she whispers.

It's a mixture of scandalized and excitement. Alright, it's mostly excitement, that he's touching her like this, that he's doing it in public nonetheless. His fingers graze the side of her breast, her top floating between them, only anchored by the tie around her neck. He pulls back so he can look her in the eye just as he cups her breast, his thumb flickering over her hard nipple. Felicity shudders, her eyelids fluttering shut, a moan slipping from her throat. He does it again, harder, with more intention, and it's a direct line to her core. Her breasts are so incredibly sensitive these days, enough that sometimes she can't wear bras. And sometimes Oliver just has to lick and tease and bite them a little before she's coming. Felicity tightens her hold on his hair, and he grits his teeth when it hurts. She doesn't stop, and neither does he.

She wants him. Now. _Hard_ and _right now._

Felicity gasps his name, and he knows exactly what she's saying.

"Not out here," he replies, his lids heavy.

She glances over his shoulder. There's people, but they're far away. "Nobody will know."

"I'm not making love to my pregnant girlfriend in the ocean," Oliver says. Is she a little disappointed that he doesn't say something like, _'I'm not going to fuck my girlfriend in the ocean'_? Yes, she is, but she'll let it slide, because she's pretty sure he's on the edge as much as she is. They woke up late and wanted to get some beach time today, so they'd rolled out of bed and headed straight outside. She's sick of the beach, though, she wants to go inside and take a shower - _with him_ \- and spend the rest of the day in bed. "Besides," he continues, pulling her out of thoughts of him planted between her thighs, "I don't think it's very sanitary. Same with the beach. Even if there weren't people a couple houses down, sex on the beach isn't as easy as it sounds."

That he knows anything about that makes her wonder where and when he had sex on a beach. Was it Lian Yu? Was it before that? Probably both, which is a sour thought that leaves her wanting to buck common sense and go at it on the beach with him right now. For science. And to replace that memory with their own. But he's also probably right, about the sanitary part. And the easy part, especially considering she's carrying an extra human being these days. She should care that he's probably right. She doesn't.

But Oliver does and with one last squeeze of her breast, he finally walks a few more feet towards the beach so he can set her down.

Felicity doesn't let him get far. Ignoring her top, not caring that her breasts are floating between them - he's got her shielded anyway, practically dwarfing her until she's covered - she reaches between them and cups him through his shorts. His hardness swells under her touch, and she strokes him, squeezing, delighting in the way he lengthens against her palm. Oliver chokes out something that sounds like her name, his hands grabbing onto her shoulders like an anchor, his eyes slipping shut as he thrusts into her hand.

"I need you," she whispers, pushing onto her toes to get a kiss. The waves aid her, pushing her even closer to him and he winds his arms around her as their lips touch. His embrace is hard and eager, his tongue immediately delving into her mouth, finding hers. She moans, kissing him back, but he pulls back way too soon, cutting it off. "Oliver," she whines.

"Let's get inside."

Yes, inside is good. Inside _her_ , specifically.

"The house," he clarifies with a grin. He pulls her hand away from him, unable to hide his small hiss when her nails scrape him. "I'm gonna go clean up our stuff. Fix your top…" Intention darkens his eyes. "And then get your ass in there."

Felicity shivers. It's not a command. Not _really_. Oliver isn't like that with her. But oh, right now that's exactly what she wants, and she almost tells him so, but he doesn't give her the chance.

Oliver urges her back into the water to cover her nakedness before stepping back. There's a hard glint in his eye, but it's softened when he winks at her, and she knows he's going to wait until she's ready to go inside, and then he's going to slowly undress her and take his sweet, loving time with her. Probably in the shower, cleaning her off, not letting her get the best of him. He's always so controlled, especially with how he handles her since her pregnancy, and it's _driving her crazy_. Like, more than usual. Like, she suddenly wants to scream because he won't just _take_ her.

She should do more, she thinks, follow him out with her top barely hanging off, see how he likes that. She doesn't have the gumption for that, though, not right now. Not with her breasts so large and unwieldy, and her stomach jutting out like it is. Would she have done that before the pregnancy? Maybe, but something tells her no. They've only been together - really _together_ \- for a few months now, and they got pregnant with their Julie-bug almost immediately. It's not like they've had time for just them, which is the entire point of this trip. But it's not really just them, is it? It's the three of them. She won't ever know if she'd have walked out half-naked just to catch his attention before running to the house, hopefully with him chasing after her. He won't do that now, not with the baby.

Disappointment swirls deep inside her, doing a fine job of tamping down the flame of desire. It's still there, but the urgency is gone as she watches him walk backwards away from her. Their eyes never leave each other, not until they have to when he reaches the beach. And then his attention redirects to their stuff.

Felicity turns away at the same time, scrubbing her face. God, she's a bundle of emotions. And they're not even _sane_ emotions. They're crazy ones, coming at her from every angle possible. Tears burn her eyes and she huffs, rubbing them until there's not a single tear left. Nope, she's not going to cry. And she's not going to get angry or sad or anything else but happy. Because that's what she is: _happy_ , damn it. Elated.

And she's going to be perfectly happy with her boyfriend making gentle love to her. Because he loves her and that's how he expresses it and she loves that.

She _does_. She has to.

God, she's a _mess_. How Oliver is putting up with her at all is a frakking miracle and she really, _really_ needs to calm down.

"I'm calming down," she whispers. "Yep, I'm super calm. I'm a super calm, ridiculously over-hormoned, crazy pregnant lady calm." A wave of sympathy and sadness hit her. She's not only driving herself crazy, she's dragging Oliver along for the ride. "Wow, I'm the best girlfriend ever. Here I have the best guy in the entire world and I'm angry because he always wants to make love to me." With a sigh, Felicity grabs her top, covering her breasts. They're getting so big and she's so not used to that. She starts tying it behind her as best she can as she continues, "It doesn't seem like a lot to ask him to ravage me, but we weren't even considering this a few months ago, were we? This wasn't even a thing. I should be grateful. And I am… I am."

And she's talking to herself in the middle of the ocean like the crazy, pregnant lady she is.

Once the top is securely fastened, she readjusts her breasts so they're properly covered before heading back to the beach.

The second she sees what's happening, she freezes, her stomach slamming into the ocean floor, her blood turning to ice.

She's back, the woman who was trying to rub Oliver down with massive amounts of sunscreen earlier that morning. She's still wearing the barely-there bikini, and she's still perfectly coiffed, her hair voluminous, the breeze making it dance, her eyes huge and sparkling in the sun, her lips full, and her body is… it's _perfect_. It's flat and toned and she's got curves in what seem like the right places right now, the places that Felicity doesn't have curves, because the bulk of her curve is currently in her stomach.

That's enough to make her insides twist and turn, but that isn't what grabs her attention.

No, it's that Oliver is standing still as a statute as she _dries him off_ with a towel that is definitely not theirs.

Felicity has a second of clarity, and it's like she's yanked out of her body so she can think. She's floating above the scene, completely separate from it, and it's only here that she sees she has two choices. She could be cool, calm and collected, recognize that this is the same woman who was trying to worm her way in on her man earlier in the day, and failed, especially when Oliver gave her the brush off with decisive words before looking for Felicity. She could do that, and she should, because it was sane. And she is _sane_ , isn't she? Or…

Or she could give into the white hot jealous anger that plows through her chest, flooding her veins with adrenaline-laced rage as she watches someone else pat at her boyfriend's chest… and he does nothing to stop her.

He does _nothing_ to stop her.

A wild barrage of curses fall from her lips.

Felicity moves before she knows what's happening. It's a struggle in the water, but the waves are at her back, pushing her closer, aiding her where her extra weight keeps trying to slow her down. And _that_ realization isn't helping anything either, is it? She's huge, a pregnant whale, and her boyfriend is a beautiful muscled mountain of a man who is currently being wiped down by a woman who ninety percent of the world would fall to their feet to get even five seconds of her attention.

Part of her wants to shrink away and wallow, but that's quickly washed away by self-righteous anger.

Because Oliver is _hers_ , damn it.

Possessiveness joins the anger, her emotions boiling inside her, screaming in her ears.

She reaches the beach, and the fact that the sand keeps giving way under her feet only pisses her off more as she makes her way over to where her boyfriend is just now gently nudging the towel away. Did he like it? Was he enjoying the attention? Some part of her - a very, very _small_ part of her at that very moment - knows she's acting like an irrational fool, because she knows Oliver. If she was in her right mind she'd see that he's standing very stiffly, trying to be polite and give the invasive woman the brush off _again_. But Felicity isn't in her right mind. Not even a little.

Especially when she catches snippets of what the woman is saying…

 _"You're in the green house, right? I'm staying next to you, in the blue one."_

So they're _neighbors_ , are they?

Then the woman brushes her carefully manicured hand over his beautifully scarred shoulder. It strikes Felicity how good it looks there, reminding her that she hasn't done her own nails since they started their mini-vacation. Doubt almost has her stopping. But then the woman's hand slides down, moving over _her_ boyfriend's bicep. When she squeezes his arm, like she has a right to, Felicity sees red.

"Hey," Felicity snaps, loud enough for the entire beach to hear.

Oliver jumps, spinning around, but the woman doesn't move, merely turning to glance at her with a raised eyebrow.

She's not concerned in the slightest, and her _hand_ is still on Oliver's shoulder.

He immediately sees what's happening and he steps away from the woman. Her towel is clenched tight against his chest as he puts space between them and for the first time, Felicity wonders why in hell this twit is drying Oliver off with _her_ towel.

It's then that she sees there's a spilled glass of wine all over their own towels, red liquid bathing all four of them.

She spilled _wine_ all over their stuff.

"Are you kidding me?" Felicity asks, turning to her. The woman jerks her head back with a sour look, her eyes sliding over to Oliver, as if to say, _'Is this really what you want?'_ Felicity waves her hands in front of the woman's face. "Hey, no, he's not yours. He's _mine_. That's _my_ boyfriend you keep trying to move in on and since you clearly can't take a hint, let me spell it out for you: he's already taken. This stupid little flirty game you keep trying isn't going to work." Felicity grabs the towel from Oliver with too much force, yanking it out of his hands hard enough to make him jump, but she doesn't care. She throws the towel at the woman, _hard_. "Now how about you take that and get lost."

The woman looks ready to argue, but Felicity slashes her hand through the air. With a huff, the intruder turns, walking away - more _stomping_ away. Which is good. Very good. Because maybe she'll finally get the hint and steer clear of Oliver. Dark triumph fills Felicity's chest as she watches her would-be rival walk away, but even then she can't stop her eyes from sliding down her perfectly toned body. Her own ass doesn't look like that, does it? Did it ever? No, because she hates squats and lunges and now she knows it's going straight downhill because of the baby weight she's gaining on a fast train.

Jealousy rears its ugly head inside her all over again, filling her ears, making her blood pump faster as a voice in the back of her mind whispers, _'Is that why Oliver won't touch me like I want him to?'_

It's so _dumb_ , and she knows it, but the thought mixes with bone-deep need, making her skin feel so very tight and uncomfortable. And, that Oliver only touches her a certain way, that he was just _fine_ letting this strange woman manhandle him, she's just… her emotions are everywhere and she can't think. She can't tear her eyes off the way the woman's hips swing as she makes her way to her blue house, which _is_ right next to their green one, and it suddenly hits her that maybe she thinks Felicity isn't satisfying Oliver? It's not like they've been blowing the roof off with the sounds of their pleasure, or doing anything but lounging, being lazy, just existing. Which is _fine_ , damn it, it's just _fine_ , it is. She wants that and she loves that, but it's not…

But it's not what?

What does she want?

She knows, but she also _doesn't_ know. Her own indecision and the way her heart feel like it's going to explode makes her want to _scream_.

Felicity doesn't sense Oliver's movement until he's right behind her, his hand landing on her shoulder. His voice is dark, and a little annoyed - and hurt? She thinks it's hurt - as he says, "Hey, what was that?"

"What was that?" Felicity repeats, whirling around to face him. She pushes on his chest, shoving him away from her. It's not a conscious decision, she just does it, because she doesn't want him near her, not after _that_. Except, of course, she also does. She wants him so near her that he's possessing her, that she's claiming him in every way possible. And the war between wanting him close and needing him gone rages just beneath the surface. Hurt and confusion fill his face and the same emotions hit her full force. Tears fill her eyes again and she growls, refusing to let them fall. She's shaking as she glares at him. "That was me doing what you should have done, Oliver."

"What?"

"She was all over you," Felicity fills in, advancing on him. He stands his ground, frowning, and she jabs him in the chest with her finger. "And you _let_ her be all over you."

"I was trying not to be rude," he replies, agitation filling his voice now. It only amps Felicity's up more. "I was trying to tell her no, that I do have a girlfriend as you so _kindly_ pointed out, but-"

His sarcasm is _so_ not helping.

"You obviously weren't trying hard enough," she snaps, turning away. He grabs for her hand, but she pulls away from him with a harsh, "Leave me alone."

"Felicity!"

She doesn't turn back to him. Instead she hurries to the house. A tear falls and she snarls at it, wiping it away, making her skin burn where she rubs. Why is she crying? Why is she acting like this? Why is she feeling this way, what is _wrong_ with her? She knows she's acting irrational, that she's acting out, even, but just as that thought occurs to her, the memory of that woman all over him surfaces.

And it pisses her off all over again.

Felicity hears him picking up their stuff behind him, still trying to call her, but she doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't even want to look at him, much less hear what he has to say about what just happened. She doesn't want to face her own actions, her own _re_ actions. She wants to go inside and… and… punch something.

The sound of his feet in the sand behind her has her moving faster. Felicity doesn't think as she reaches the side door to their rented house, slipping inside and shutting it behind her with a slam. She doesn't think as she flips the deadbolt, locking him out, or when she drags sand everywhere as she makes her way upstairs. Oliver tries the knob, the door rattling as he knocks, but she ignores him. She grabs the shirt she slept in, but it's one of Oliver's, and that only angers her more. She throws it across the room, grabbing one of her tank tops instead. She yanks it over her head, hating the way her hair is everywhere. It's a wet sloppy mess and that makes her think about the beach goddess who was drying off her boyfriend and - oh, yeah - she's just getting angrier.

Felicity grumbles to herself, picking up a pillow and throwing it across the room. It does nothing. The pent-up anger grows, building in her chest. She's still shaking, still wants to scream and…

And she doesn't hear anything downstairs.

It's completely silent.

Did he give up?

For reasons she can't explain that pushes her over the edge. What's he doing, sitting outside, waiting for her to calm down? Or did he make his way back to the beach again, to get away from the crazy bag of hormones he's currently living with? Oh _hell_ no - he did his to her, he was right there with her when she got pregnant, and she's so not going through this alone. It doesn't matter that she's the one who locked him out, or that she's the one who got jealous of some random blip of a woman, or that she's the one who pushed him away afterwards.

She has no idea what she's saying as she comes down the stairs, moving to head right for the door to find out exactly why he isn't still trying to get in when she sees movement from the corner of her eye.

It's Oliver hopping the balcony railing and coming through the sliding glass door they'd left open to get a breeze before it got too hot.

"Hey!" Felicity stalks towards him, moving to push him back outside. Didn't she just want to let him back in? No, she wanted to make sure he was still out there, right outside, still close but not _in here_. Because that's a fine line that isn't contradictory at all, right? He ignores her, moving towards her and she growls, "No! You don't get to Arrow your way in here."

Oliver takes a steadying breath. "Felicity-"

"No!" She pushes on his chest again, but Oliver doesn't budge this time. Instead anger makes his brow heavy and how _dare_ he be angry with her. " _Oliver_ -"

"What? You want me to leave?"

"Yes! No! I want…" She waves her hands at him, like that simple act will magically have him doing what it is she really wants him to do. "I don't know! I want you to…"

Felicity growls out a trail of unintelligible words before turning away from him. He doesn't let her, though, grabbing her hand to pull her back. She can't fight him this time because his grip is like steel, and he doesn't let her pull away.

"No, don't run away. Don't pull away from me," Oliver says. "What the hell happened out there? Do you honestly think I would do something with her? With anyone?" He shakes his head in astonishment. "Do you really think that, Felicity?"

The incredulity in his voice hits her hard, and shame and embarrassment are quick to follow, because _no_ , she doesn't think that. But she's too damn proud and too damn _angry_ to tell him that, at least right now, which is all the more reason she needs some space. And he needs to sit outside, _away from her_ , and let her… let her just… let her _stew_.

"I'm not letting you stew, Felicity," Oliver replies. _Frak_ , she was talking out loud. "I would never do something to betra-"

"I know that, Oliver!" Felicity snaps. "I know that! But that doesn't change that I didn't like seeing some random hot bikini babe pawing at you like she was yours, or that you were letting her!"

"I wasn't letting her-"

"You weren't stopping her, either!"

"Felicity-"

"You're _mine_ ," she says vehemently, yanking her wrist away from him to poke his chest, _hard_. He winces, but he doesn't say anything as she does it over and over, emphasizing her words. "You are my boyfriend and I don't care how territorial and crazy I'm acting, I want the entire world to know that you belong to me!" Felicity huffed, rolling her eyes at herself. "I hate this feeling, I hate that I'm jealous because you aren't luggage, you're my boyfriend. But you're also the most amazing boyfriend in the entire world for putting up with me like this, but… But you're also an actual Adonis, and you're so gorgeous and beautiful and I don't blame other people for looking and even lusting, but they can't _touch_! She can't have you, or your scars that make you look insanely hotter than they probably should, or your crazy ocean hair or your stubble or any of you!" She waves at him. "This is all mine. _Mine_. And the second I saw her touching you like that, touching _my_ boyfriend, the father of _my_ child, I wanted to-"

Oliver grabs her, pulling her into his chest, his lips slanting over hers. He swallows the rest of her words and the startled whimper she lets out, taking advantage of her open mouth, his tongue finding hers. The next sound she makes is a needy one, a whine that starts deep in her chest as she wraps herself around him, pushing herself as close as she can get.

The kiss is hard, demanding, and everything she wants as he plunders her, responding to her words in the best way possible.

"You're _mine_ , Oliver Queen," she whispers between kisses. He huffs out a chuckle and she pulls back, her lips swollen and used, the skin around her mouth raw from his stubble, from the force of his kiss. "I'm serious."

He grins. "I know you are." He kisses her again, and again. "And I love you for it."

"You'd better," she replies before his lips cover hers again.

Felicity pushes herself up onto her toes to get closer, digging her nails into his chest. He growls under the assault, kissing her thoroughly, holding her close…

She notices the second he started to slow down, to soften his movements, like he always does. His grip loosens, his hands brushing over her like she's made of porcelain. His kiss becomes more tender, sipping at her lips rather than taking. Felicity sighs, her shoulders falling. She almost gives in. _Almost_. But she's still upset, still agitated, and the fact that he wants to be _gentle_ with her now?

"Seriously?" she asks, pulling back.

Oliver blinks. "What?"

Felicity shakes her head. "Why won't you just…" She steps back, and bewilderment covers his face. But her mind is a few steps in the past, to the way he responded to her declaration. He'd laughed. He'd found her _amusing_. He thought her anger was adorable and that she was being, what? Ridiculous? That thought throws her right back into the pit of anger brimming inside her again. "I don't want you to make love to me," she says, _loudly_ , her voice echoing through the room. "I don't want that."

Oliver jerks back like she'd slapped him. She'll feel guilty for the stark way she says it later, but right now she doesn't want to feel guilty, or sad, and she doesn't want to coddle him.

"Do you want me?" Felicity asks. It isn't from a place of insecurity, _far_ from it. Oliver does a doubletake, though, like he's trying to figure that out for himself. He's on a totally different page, and trying to catch up to her. She could slow down and explain it, but she doesn't want to. She wants to _see_ it. Wants to _feel_ it, and she doesn't know how to tell him that. "Do you _want me_ , Oliver?"

"I always do," he replies, taking a step towards her.

"Then prove it," she challenges, meeting him halfway. "Take me." She grabs his shoulders, pulling him down to her lips. The kiss is hard and painful, mostly because they crash together awkwardly, but Felicity doesn't let up. It's her turn to plunder, to taste all of him, to take, and he… and he's still just as soft and gentle, following her lead completely. She _wants_ that, she loves when he's sweet like this, she _does_ , but _not right now_. Felicity rips away from him. "Damn it, Oliver."

"What?" he snaps irritably, throwing his hands up. "What am I doing that's pissing you off so much? I'm getting a lot of mixed signals here, Felicity, what the hell are you trying to tell me?"

"I don't want soft!" she bites out, louder than she means to. "You've been so _careful_ with me ever since I got pregnant, and it's been _amazing_. I'm not saying it hasn't been, because it has. I see stars, every single time, but you're so _gentle_ with me. I don't _want_ you to make love to me, Oliver, I want you to _take me_. I want to feel how much you want me, and _yes_ , you do that every single time we're together and it's the most amazing thing I've ever felt, but it's also… I need _more_. I have all this…" She scrubbed at her chest for emphasis, yanking her bikini top to and fro, making her breasts spill out of it underneath her tank top. She doesn't notice, and she doesn't notice him noticing. She's too caught up in the ridiculous _emotion_ and _hormones_ dictating her _every stupid move_. "I have all these _feelings_ , especially when I see you being pawed at by other women. I want to throw you on the ground right here, but it's not just that, it's not just me, I need to know that you feel the same way. Oh my god, that's it, isn't it?" She laughs, throwing her hands up. "Here I am thinking I'm not being a total headcase because I'm jealous that that woman had her hands all over you, but I kind of am, because what if some guy was doing that to me? Would you be okay with that?"

" _No_ ," Oliver growls. It's low, low enough that she's only half-aware that he spoke, mostly because she's still in her tirade. She scrubs her face, missing the way his stance changes, the way his shoulders straighten, his eyes darkening as her words sink in. "Felicity-"

 _Fe-li-ci-ty_.

She doesn't hear him, or see him. She's too caught up in her self-realizations to do anything but rant.

"There's no rational reason for me to want this because I know - I _know_ \- how you feel about me, which makes the fact that I want you to grab me and fuck me up against that wall over there just because you saw me with someone else so completely-"

He's on her before she knows what's happening.

Oliver shoves her up against the very wall she just indicated, not being gentle in the least save for buffering her with his arms and not pushing himself completely against her to avoid putting too much pressure on her growing stomach. But there _is_ pressure, in the way he pins her to the wall, the way his eyes nail her in place, his pupils blown wide, his lips parting with barely-controlled pants.

Felicity has enough time for her stomach to drop, for it to somehow simultaneously fill with heat that immediately spirals out, flooding her with anticipation. And then his lips are covering hers.

The kiss is pure _fire_ and it catches on the passion between them, positively exploding.

He's everywhere, surrounding her, _demanding_ , and she yields to it as much as she gives it back, demands the same from him. Felicity wraps her arms around him, hooking her arms over his shoulders, pulling him down closer to her. Oliver braces his hands on the wall, shoving his hips against hers. But it's like he can't not touch her, his hands instantly cupping her face, his fingers pushing into her damp hair, getting tangled. His hold on her tightens, his chest pressing into hers, and a thrill shoots through her.

Oliver pulls back, brushing hair off her face, his palms cradling her cheeks. His cheeks are flushed, his lips red and swollen from her nipping at them. He's so insanely sexy in this moment that she whimpers, trying to kiss him again, but he doesn't let her. She'd be lying if him keeping her still didn't have a bolt of need shooting through her, right to her center.

"You _are_ mine, Felicity," he says, his words deceptively soft. It does nothing to take away from the power behind them. She shudders and he feels it. "And I would hate it if someone ever touched you like that. I would want to kill them if they did, especially now, now that you're…" His eyes drag down her body, pausing on her heaving breasts and down to her pregnant belly. His grip tightens even more, and she can feel his body hardening against her. His eyes snap back to hers and her mouth goes dry at the intensity waiting for her in his. "I do get jealous, a lot. I see the way people look at you, all the time. I _see_ it, and most of the time I'm proud that you chose me to be with you, that you looked at me and wanted me to be the one to live your life with you."

His words are somehow both so romantic they make her heart swell but also so erotic that her skin is catching fire. Felicity struggles to breathe, focusing on his every move, his every breath, his every word.

"But sometimes…" Oliver clenches his jaw. "You are so gorgeous, Felicity, and with this pregnancy… You _glow_ , and everyone can see it, and as if you weren't stunning already, now you're… God, I can't think straight with you looking at me like that."

Felicity huffs out a breathy chuckle, and he returns it, bowing his head before meeting her gaze again.

"That valet from last week, the one who helped you out of the car?" he grits out. Felicity's eyebrows pop up in surprise, remembering exactly who she's talking about. "He had his hand on your back almost the entire time, and I wanted to rip it off his arm."

"You did?"

Oliver nods, his forehead falling against hers. "When you come to the QC site, I want to tell everyone to keep their goddamned eyes to themselves because of the way they look at you. You were laughing with some guy in the elevator the other day and I just about bit through my goddamn tongue to keep myself from snapping."

"You've never told me any of this," Felicity breathes.

"Because you aren't something to possess, Felicity," Oliver replies. "You are the love of my life, the woman I'm spending my life with. You're the mother of my children, and you're giving me… you're giving me everything, and I just… I didn't want to make you feel like I was possessive or trying to own you or-"

"Oliver." Felicity kisses him, pouring everything she can't voice quite yet into it. He readily responds, kissing her back. "You don't make me feel that way," she whispers, shaking her head. "And I… I don't know how to say this, I just…"

"What?" he prods.

"I guess I'm a little upset," Felicity admits, "that we got pregnant so fast. I don't regret it, at all. I don't regret anything about how this has all happened between us, because it's perfect. It's _us_ , you know? It's still fast, though, and… I don't know, I guess I feel like we lost the chance to be the crazy wild couple who gets lost in the throes of passion."

"I think we do just fine in that department," he says dryly, and the sly smile on his lips tells her he's maybe starting to see where she's coming from.

Felicity laughs. "We do," she amends. "But I mean… I feel like it's…"

"I guess I have been a little extra careful," Oliver says. "With you. And us."

"Yes," she says decisively. "Yes, you have."

"I just don't want to hurt you, Felicity. That's the last thing I ever want to do."

"You won't. I promise." He opens his mouth to argue, but she cuts him off. "And you know I'd say something if anything ever did hurt me, right? Not that it will, because you're just not capable of that." He snorts, and she wonders if he's thinking about all the things he is capable of, the things he has done. "You could never hurt me, Oliver."

That's not entirely true, and they both know it. He could hurt her, just as much as she could hurt him, but it's that very trust that makes the vehemence behind her words ring so true. He would never do anything to willfully hurt her, and even if there was a reason for it, they both know she wouldn't let him. Not after everything they've been through, not when they have so much to look forward to.

"I think that's part of why I got so jealous," Felicity says. "No, that's not true. I got jealous because that woman had her hands all over you." He chuckles, but it's different from before. It's more understanding, and maybe it's because she now knows she isn't the only one. "Sometimes I want you to throw me up against a wall and have your way with me. But more than that I want you to want to do that. I feel like me being pregnant is stopping that, and maybe I'm way off base, but-"

"I think it is, too," Oliver admits. "I have been holding back."

"Don't," she says. Felicity runs her hands up and down his back. When she does it again, she digs her nails in, making him gasp, especially when they rake over some of his scars. "While I appreciate you not doing the whole caveman thing in public, I also… wouldn't say no to it. I'm saying this all weird, aren't I? Am I already getting some weird version of pregnancy brain?"

Oliver laughs before slowly licking his lips. He wisely doesn't agree with her, at least out loud. Instead, he leans forward, his nose brushing hers. "So… you want me to show you all the ways that you're mine when I get jealous of someone?"

Felicity shivers, nodding. "Yes. Yes, I'd like that a lot."

"You know," he breathes, pressing his lips to her cheek, then her jaw. He moves down her neck, licking and sucking softly, so gently that she melts against him. It's with intention this time, so different from before, and oh it's exactly what she needs. It's like a promise of what's to come. Felicity's instinct is to expose more of her neck for him, but instead she turns her face into his, kissing him back. It's his turn to shiver, goosebumps erupting over the surface of his skin. He gives up his quest, leaving her to hers, his lips finding her ears. She's at his collarbone when he whispers, "That goes both ways."

"Hmm?" she asks, her brain and lips a little occupied.

"When you're jealous," Oliver says, the words breathless. Felicity immediately follows where he's going with that, and she finds his pulse point, sucking harder on it. His voice hitches as he adds, "Instead of biting my head off, I'd rather you showed me all the ways I'm yours."

Felicity's reply is to do just that.

She sucks on the tender skin of his throat, her hands dropping down to his ass. She grips him tight and squeezes just as she sinks her teeth into his neck. Oliver chokes out a groan, falling against her, his hips jerking forward. His hands fall to her shoulders, holding on as she sucks harder. He's going to have a huge hickey there when she's done and neither of them can be bothered to care. It's more like they want it. And they do.

Oliver curses, his hands pushing up into her hair, his fingers tangling in the long strands. She nips at him again and his hips thrust forward.

"Felicity." He presses his face into her hair, his breath hot as he gasps, "I need you."

" _Yes_."

She pulls back and Oliver moves with her, grasping her face, pulling her lips to his again.

Felicity digs her nails into his ass as he angles her head to deepen the kiss. There's a new desperation that wasn't there before, and it fuels their need in a way that makes both of them insatiable. His arousal presses into her and she arches her back, pressing her aching breasts into his chest.

It's not enough, though.

"Oliver," she whispers, her voice husky. His lids are heavy as he pulls back to look at her, just as she breathes, "Fuck me."

His pupils eclipse the blue of his eyes just before his mouth slants over hers.

Sensation rockets through her as he ravages her. He yanks her top off, leaving her only in her bikini, but it's enough as he pulls her away from the wall. She moves to go upstairs, but Oliver has other ideas, dragging her over to the couch. He doesn't give her a chance to anticipate what he's about to do, and that he doesn't makes her shudder with pleasure, especially when he suddenly spins her away from him, their lips breaking apart with a ragged gasp. He sweeps her hair off her shoulder before grabbing her hips, yanking her back against him as his mouth lands on her shoulder.

There's nothing hindering them from this angle, not a damn thing, and it's _fantastic_. There's nothing soft about his movements now and thank god for that because it's everything she needs, everything and so much more. Oliver grinds against her, digging his hard cock in the seam of her ass, growling against her skin with urgency.

Felicity gasps, "Yes, yes, _Oliver_ ," as one hand falls on his at her hip as her other grabs the back of his head, urging him to do more. He complies, digging his teeth into the muscle, making her cry out. Oliver's fingers grip her so hard it hurts, but he doesn't stop this time.

Instead he rubs himself harder against her before urging her forward onto the couch.

"Up," he grunts.

Felicity moves, getting onto her knees on the edge of the couch, falling forward to grip the back of it. She glances back at him as Oliver's hands find the ties of her bikini. The look in his eyes is all determination, his brow heavy, his face flush with desire. It's a look she recognizes when he's in Arrow mode and it sets her blood on fire, knowing all that is focused on _her_. He tugs on the string and the bottoms fall away, leaving her completely exposed. Felicity's vaguely aware that the open balcony door is right there, that anyone could walk by and probably sneak a peek of something through the heavy brush that offers some privacy, but she doesn't care.

It actually has more heat flooding her veins.

There's a rustle of fabric as Oliver shoves his shorts down, followed by his soft gasp when he takes hold of himself. It's painfully erotic and intimate and she arches her back, lifting her hips to meet him as best she can. He bends his knees, meeting her the rest of the way, pressing the head of his cock against her wetness.

"Oh god," she gasps.

He pushes his fingers up his length and against her wet sex. What waits for him makes him curse, and he bends over her, pushing her further into the couch, his length pressing inside her. He switches his hand to wrap around her hip, his fingers finding her sex again, brushing over her clit. He kisses the back of her shoulder, pressing his face into her skin…

Felicity's brain short-circuits. It's too much to keep up with, sensation drowning her, and she gladly falls, knowing Oliver will catch her. And he does. Oliver grips her hip, his other hand between her thighs, his mouth moving up to the back of her neck…

He thrusts home, going as deep as he can, filling her completely.

With a shout, her arms give out. Oliver's right there, wrapping his arm around her chest, pulling her back up. Her back is flush against his chest, his hand snaking under her bikini top, grasping her breast, his other hand swirling around her clit. His thrusts are hard, thorough, and _rough_ , god, they're so rough and she finds herself already starting to tremble around him.

Felicity's attention scatters from the sensation of his hard length filling her over and over, so perfectly, grazing that spot deep inside her, to his fingers on her clit, to his nail scraping over her nipple, to his tongue and teeth at the back of her neck. She's babbling, her voice growing louder, her cries of pleasure echoing off the walls, mirroring his own shouts as he thrusts deep into her. The sound of flesh slapping grows, and the vibrations travel right to her clit, making it more sensitive to the rough pads of his fingers. Felicity holds onto him, her head bowed forward, giving him all the access he could want to her back where he sucks and licks, his teeth scraping over her the top of her spine. Her hair falls around her in a cascade, swaying with their movements, her hips thrusting back, sending even more sensation through him.

Her orgasm builds, cresting deep inside her. Felicity cries out wildly, one hand flying back to grab his hip. Oliver hugs her closer, thrusting harder, his lips finding her shoulder again. Her nerves jump with every thrust, every single touch, every cry and gasp, leaving her skin feeling like it's a live wire, just waiting for that one final touch…

Oliver grabs her breast, taking her breath away as his other hand cups her sex, their combined thrusts leaving her riding his fingers.

The pleasure coiling inside her becomes white hot, spiraling out in bursts that make the soles of her feet burn.

It's a lot, almost too much.

"Oh… _god_ …!"

But she's so close.

"Oliver… don't stop, don't stop…"

He bites her shoulder, hard, and it's the final straw.

Felicity comes with a sharp shout, her back bowing, pleasure exploding inside her. White sheets over her eyes, leaving her floating, Oliver the only thing anchoring her to the real world, as she sails higher and higher. His hips buck against hers wildly, his head falling back as Oliver chases his own release. She's vaguely aware of his cries of her name, and every single one prolongs the pleasure rushing through her, the idea of him finding satisfaction in her a heady one. It always is, but now he's letting go, and it's…

Another orgasm rolls through her, smaller and sharper, and she jerks, melting against him, every inch of her trembling.

With one last loud growled cry, Oliver comes, thrusting into her to the hilt. He spills into her, falling forward, and this time it's Felicity who catches them, her hands finding the back of the couch to hold them up. His moans fill the room, echoing her gasps for air, his face digging into her back. When he's spent, his hips move a few more times, riding out the aftershocks with her until he's got nothing left.

They spend the rest of the day in bed. When they make their way down to the kitchen, Oliver lifts her up onto the counter and has his way with her, not giving her any reprieve until she has to kick him away. She wakes him in the middle of the night with her hand wrapped around him and his fingers lace with hers until he's moaning her name against her lips, spilling all over their fingers. She's next, and it goes on until there's a healthy wet spot, big enough that they have to practically lie on top of each other to avoid it.

"We should buy them new sheets," Felicity whispers, her voice muffled where her face is pressed against the arm she's using as a pillow. "Maybe even a new mattress."

He chuckles. "And a couch?"

"And a couch," she agrees sleepily. They had left a bit of a mess earlier. "And counter. Washcloths… rug. Towels, obviously, but I think our 'neighbor' should pay for those."

She dozes off to the feel of his lips turning up in a smile against her back as he rubs her shoulder and arm.

They hit the beach again the next day. Their 'neighbor' is back, but she keeps her distance, much to Oliver and Felicity's delight. She doesn't go away, though, not entirely. Felicity gets a little pissy again - because the woman is clearly _inching_ closer and doesn't she have someone else to bother? - but her mood immediately brightens when she tells Oliver very specifically what she plans on doing to him the second they head inside. It's directly tied to his sexy groan and the way his shorts pop a tent when she sucks on her finger.

It turns out to be a good thing the woman can't keep her distance, though, because she has to be close to see the thing that ultimately drives her away: she catches a glimpse of the bruises Felicity left all over Oliver's body and the blatant bite marks on Felicity's back.

After that, she truly disappears, leaving the happy couple to their vacation.


	44. April 2033

**April 2033**

The bond between the guys on Will's crew is absolute. There is nothing the four of them would not do for each other. It goes hand-in-hand with the job. Will knows that, but it still feels special to him, unique. Any one of them would jump in front of danger for the other, any one of them would _die_ for the other, if needed. Their kinship isn't brotherhood, exactly, but in some ways it's something more.

Still… that doesn't mean Will doesn't want to strangle two of them right now.

"Oh my _hero_."

The singsong voice is designed to grate on Will's nerves and _wow_ is that working. "Stop."

"So big and strong, let me cling to your arm with the lights out, my what an impressive bicep you have."

"I swear to god, Javi…"

"All part of the job, ma'am, now let's stand here and stare at each other longingly like a cheesy ass chick flick for the next five minutes."

"Elliot…"

"But how will I ever repay my big strong hero for saving me from the non-existent fire?"

"I bet the next round that Will's got a few ideas on that," Elliot smirks, leaning back in the booth and raising both eyebrows as he takes a huge swig from his mug of beer.

Will wants to brush him off, wants to punch him in the shoulder and call him a tool and demand he grab another pitcher. But it hadn't been just any girl and the way Amelia's eyes had widened in surprise, the way her gaze and her hand had lingered on him… it's thrown him for a loop and he doesn't have it in him to shrug off the guys' teasing right now.

But it's Javi who's the last straw. He turns away from them and wraps his arms around his own head making mocking kissing noises. Elliot laughs like it's the funniest thing ever. And… yup, that does it. Will shoves Elliot's shoulder hard before sliding out of the booth.

"I'm getting another pitcher. I might share if you two grow the fuck up before I get back," he tells them, trying to sound unruffled. His voice sounds a little thick even to his ears, though, and he knows he's mostly failed. But that's only underscored by Alex slapping Javi upside the back of his head.

"No sean pendejos," Alex tells the other two. The most senior member of their team sounds very much in charge and both Javi and Elliot immediately look like they've been put in their place. Alex has a way of doing that. "Know when to fucking knock it off."

Will pauses just a moment, tossing a grateful look toward Alex before heading over to the bar. Suitably chastised or not, he needs a bit of distance from Javi and Elliot right now. They're good friends, great teammates and they'd even been decent - if messy - roommates for a while before he'd gotten his own place, but neither Javi nor Elliot knows when to let things go, when to grow the hell up. Will does. He learned that lesson the hard way, for the most part. And that's something that's led to him relating more to Alex than their other teammates in recent years.

Today can't have been easy for Alex either, Will knows. Mostly, that's for different reasons… but all the same, he can't imagine the other man is much in a joking mood right now.

"Can we get a pitcher of the seasonal IPA on tap, please?" Will orders when the bartender walks by. She's quite familiar with their group by now - more than a little familiar with Javi, actually, but that was a year ago - and she tosses back a "Sure thing, babe, coming right up," with a wink before turning away.

The bar isn't crowded tonight, but Five Alarm's got a rep for spicy food, a solid rotating tap and a regular hangout for firefighters so there are still a couple dozen people hanging around. A few college girls down near the end of the bar are overtly staring at him and while Will might happily welcome the attention another day, he's really not in the mood at the moment and he offers up little more than a polite nod of recognition before turning away.

"You off your game, vato?"

Will doesn't even have to look to know it's Alex who's joined him at the bar. He has presence, fills a space effortlessly with his tall, bulky form. And Will had known the older man would come the moment he'd stepped away. Alex takes his role as team leader very seriously whether they're on or off the clock.

"Not playing a game at all," Will answers. "Not today, anyhow."

Alex just hums in agreement and it's the near silence that finally pulls Will's attention to his friend. He's leaning against the bartop on his forearms, looking past Will to grin at the girls down the bar. It's flirtier than Will had been, for sure, but no more serious. Alex has a girl and he's not that kind of guy.

"It's not like you," Alex says after a minute, catching Will's gaze with a heavy look. "Your girl's got you in knots."

"She's not my girl," Will answers immediately. And, wow if that's not the crux of it. The way his voice cracks under the strain of emotion only serves to emphasize his words.

Amelia is not his girl. She's his… she's his _something_ though. She's his 'what if,' his 'someday,' his 'if only.' The connection between them defies reason, but every time he sees her it grows exponentially and feels more and more well-founded.

Every day is different in his line of work. Normally that's something Will loves about being a firefighter. He never knows exactly what the job will entail on any given day. But today… today had thrown him for a loop.

Being called to City Hall for what turned out to be a false alarm - lightning had struck the generator and several people had smelled smoke - had given things an uneasy start. His grandmother, who has been mayor for most of his life, had foolishly chosen not to evacuate, valuing her phone call over safety protocol.

Watching Alex read her the riot act had given Will more joy than he should probably admit, but it had also set him on edge. Because Alex was _right_. Because the mayor refusing to evacuate set a terrible example for her staff and knowingly endangered everyone in the building as well as any emergency response personnel showing up at the scene.

So he'd already been in a weird place when he'd barely caught the sound of someone singing to themselves and been drawn off path as he and the boys had been heading to talk to the site manager.

" _Our boy's got a siren pulling him in_ ," Javi had laughed, much to Elliot's amusement, but Will hadn't listened to them at the time.

He'd known who it was. There hadn't been a doubt in his mind.

And he'd been right.

He'd found Amelia in a barely open storage room with earbuds in as she rifled through files and the very sight of her had taken his breath away. He hadn't even registered the snickers of his coworkers at the time. That'd come later - they've been persistent - but in that moment he'd seen nothing but Amelia, heard nothing but Amelia. He'd taken off his helmet and leaned against the doorframe, just watching her silently until she she'd caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and jolted, pulling the earbuds from her ears.

Her eyes had barely flickered toward his friends before honing in on him, cementing that ever-present connection between them. It hadn't taken more than a look, nothing more than her eyes lingering on his to make his heart flip and his breath catch.

Maybe he shouldn't feel this strongly about her, maybe it defies reason, but he can't help it and every time he sees her, he finds something else that draws him in. And he can't let go of her, not entirely.

"Fine, that girl that isn't yours has got you in knots then," Alex amends, pulling Will back to the present. "You got history or what?"

It's a harder question to answer than it should be. "Not exactly," he answers after thinking about it for a moment.

"Ah," Alex says. He clearly gets it and Will is beyond grateful that he doesn't need to explain further. "Sorry, man. Sometimes that's worse."

"Yeah," Will agrees with a heavy sigh as he rakes a hand through his hair. "It is."

"Maybe she'll change her mind," Alex offers, clapping Will on the shoulder. "She sure as hell didn't look disinterested today."

It's true. She'd been all false starts and stilted gestures, instinct drawing her closer to him, but resolve making her pull back. The push and pull of it all had felt tidal, left him drowning in a riptide of emotions. Truth be told, he's fairly certain she didn't fare much better. That she hadn't even heard the fire alarm because of faulty, outdated equipment and her music had sparked something in Will. The knowledge that had this been real - had there actually been a fire - he might've seen her again under far more dire circumstances had set him on edge, made him more protective, heightened absolutely everything, and she'd picked up on that immediately.

He can still hear her voice swearing to him softly that she'd have evacuated if she'd known, that she wouldn't have knowingly put herself in danger. And a moment later… a moment later when lightning had struck again nearby and the power had died, taking the lights out with it, she'd yelped and grabbed his arm in a momentary blind panic. Without even thinking about it, he'd pulled her closer. And, with the lights out and his buddies fishing for flashlights, he'd held Amelia protectively in his arms and everything, _everything_ had been right.

But the lights had come on and with that his dreams had faded away. She'd stepped back, seemingly embarrassed and chastising herself as she brushed her hair behind her ear and avoided his gaze.

For a moment.

Resolve aside, nothing seems to keep them from connection for long and her eyes had found his again soon enough.

But he knows Amelia, knows her better than she thinks, and he's well aware that today won't have changed anything between them in the long run. It's just another of their series of near misses. And, as much as he would give almost anything for it to be more, Amelia's going to keep her distance.

"Maybe," he agrees anyhow, wanting to get off the subject with Alex.

"Javi and Elliot are gonna shut their traps about it either way," Alex vows, drawing Will's surprised gaze. "The boys don't know when to quit 'til I knock their heads together a few times. They're set straight now, but I can't promise Elliot isn't gonna bring up how hot she is."

"I can't promise I'm not gonna sock him, then," Will grumbles.

"Come on, vato," Alex says with a tisk. "Girl's got legs for miles and a rack straight off a swimsuit calendar. Can't blame any of us for noticing that."

Well, _that's_ irksome. Elliot's one thing. The guy's his brother and he's got a good heart, but he's also forever making lewd comments about women. Alex is another thing entirely. With three years on Will, Alex is the oldest member of their team and the most experienced.

He's also the most professional. Even over drinks, Will's a little surprised to hear him talking about _any_ woman's body so openly, especially if it isn't with a wink and a grin and definitely referencing his girlfriend.

"Marisol's gonna love that," Will bites out, feeling more than a little bitter at Alex's observation.

"Not much of her business what I notice these days," Alex replies tightly, nodding at the bartender as she drops off their pitcher.

"You broke up?" Will asks surprised.

"Yeah. Again," Alex replies grimly. "Ain't everybody who's cut out to be a firefighter's girl, you know? Mari likes the idea of it, but reality is something else."

It's true. The schedule alone is a burden to their loved ones - 24-hour shifts are a bitch - but the constant danger wears away on them, too. Some people are built for that. Others aren't. It's one of the reasons Will tells himself he keeps to more casual relationships. That's easier to deal with than the thought that he's so hung up on the very idea of Amelia that it's affecting his life.

"Sorry, man," Will tells him as the bartender puts a pair of mugs down in front of them and Alex moves to pour them both some beer. Elliot and Javi are chatting up a pair of girls over near the pool table, so it looks like they've lost their booth. That's fine. Will finds he's feeling a bit restless anyhow.

"It's life," Alex shrugs, trying to look unaffected. Will doesn't buy it for a second. He and Marisol had been back together since early last fall and she'd all but moved into Alex's place. But he's also not about to say anything like that. "You got plans tomorrow?"

The change of subject is swift and deliberate.

"I've got Bethy for the day," Will tells him. Just the idea of his baby sister perks him up some. She makes everything brighter. "Not sure what we're gonna do yet, but David's working so I said I'd take her. Better me than some babysitter, right?"

"You should bring her over," Alex tells him. "Javi and his brothers were gonna come over for the game. Elliot said he might join, too, and I think Javi's got some nieces and nephews comin'. We can do a barbeque, toss the kids in the pool and let 'em play. Beth would have fun."

Bethy's not-quite-three now and she loves the water. She's a miserable swimmer, but she gets so much joy out of Will tossing her up in the air and splashing about.

"Yeah, maybe," Will agrees. "What time?"

"Game's at eleven," Alex says, taking a swig of his beer. "Anytime's fine, though. Nothing else I'm doing tomorrow other than handing Mari a box of her stuff whenever she drops by."

Ah… So then _that's_ what's going on. Invitations to Alex's place aren't uncommon, but Javi dragging along his entire extended family definitely is. And Elliot hates soccer, which is absolutely what game Alex is referring to. But both of the guys had to have known about Alex and Marisol's split before him and planned to be there as silent backup.

"We'll be there after her morning nap… assuming she takes one," Will promises. "Want me to bring anything?"

"Whatever Beth's gonna eat," Alex tells him. "I'm not sure she'll eat anything in my kitchen."

She won't. He's right about that. Beth's a picky little eater.

But while Will is busy mulling over what to bring along to Alex's place tomorrow for Bethy, he's also suddenly aware that his friend is watching him with a strange, contemplative look on his face.

"What?" Will asks warily.

"Nothing," Alex says, shaking it off and taking another sip of his beer.

"No, really, what?" Will asks again after a minute. Alex isn't the sort to leave things unsaid and the idea that he's biting his tongue now sits poorly with Will.

"Man, I don't think you wanna know," Alex tells him ruefully. It has the opposite of his intended effect. Will sits up straighter, every bit of his attention turning toward Alex.

"Tell me anyhow," Will challenges.

Alex still hesitates, winces and licks his lips, looking off to the side before speaking in a lowered voice. "Your girl…" he starts, his voice trailing off at the end.

"Amelia?" Will asks, suddenly on the defensive.

"Yeah," Alex agrees with a heavy nod and piercing dark eyes. " _Amelia_ …. She's hot and all, man, but I don't get it." Will blinks quickly at him in stunned surprise as Alex continues. "I don't have to, I know. It's none of my business. But all the hot girls in this city and you get hung up on some cold, cut-throat politician?"

"She's not!" Will insists before realizing he's a little too loud. The girls at the end of the bar are paying far too close attention. "She's not," he repeats in a much quieter voice.

"If you say so," Alex agrees, but he clearly doesn't believe the words.

"She's driven and passionate, but she's not cut-throat. You don't know her," Will insists. And it's true. Alex had been around her for all of ten minutes. He's judging her largely by her association with Moira. And, while he surely has his own reasons for that, there's so much more to Amelia than just her relationship with her mentor.

"Okay," Alex says, holding up one hand in surrender. But Will isn't ready to let it go.

"Amelia is… she's someone who knows exactly what she wants in life and she's not willing to settle for anything else," Will informs him. "She wants to make a difference in the world. She's not after power or money or anything like that."

 _She's not like my grandmother_ , he wants to insist. He knows that's what Alex meant, even if he left the words unspoken.

"She's smarter than anyone gives her credit for, but she knows how to use that to her advantage and she does it to push political agendas that _help_ people," Will tells him. "She's a loyal enough friend that she put off graduating college by a semester to support a friend who needed her. She drinks black coffee like it's water and she's the first one in the office in the morning and the last one there at night because she's that dedicated to her work. She wears high heels even though most of the time it probably makes her the tallest person in the room, probably _because_ it makes her the tallest person in the room. And she has a plush bouquet of daisies on her desk that I sent her a year ago, even though we haven't really talked since then. She's not cold and she's not cut-throat, Alex. She's just… she's scared of being hurt and she plays it safe and defensive more than she should because of it."

"Will…" Alex says slowly, cautiously, like he's not sure if he wants to be sticking his nose in this or not. "Bro, even if you're right… girl like that's gonna break your heart and you gotta know that. The scared ones, the ones who hold back pieces of themselves always do."

There's a surprising lack of judgement in Alex's voice. Instead, it's all sympathy, and somehow that hits Will even harder.

"You aren't askin' my advice, so I'm not gonna give it," Alex tells him. "But speaking from experience, there isn't much that sucks more than loving a girl who's scared of her own feelings. And you add to this that she works for your _grandmother_ … man, that's just messy."

"I'm not letting Moira Queen screw with my life more," Will announces firmly, the muscles of his jaw tightening at the thought of his grandmother. "She doesn't get to have that kind of control."

"You're awfully pissed at her for somebody you aren't giving any control to," Alex notes.

Something angry rises up in Will at that. If anyone in the world had solidarity on this with him, he'd have thought it would be Alex.

"How can you say that?" Will asks. "How can you expect me not to be pissed at her? After everything she's done. To me. To you. How can you just brush her aside?"

"Because I matter more than she does," Alex answers immediately. The confusion must be plain on Will's face because Alex offers him a sad smile and a shake of his head. "Me hating her wouldn't make my life better, vato, and it wouldn't bring my father back, God rest his soul." Alex pauses and crosses himself at this. "Hate is toxic, man. It'll eat you alive. I ain't never gonna forgive her for what she did. A part of me is always gonna feel like that little boy waiting for his papa to come home after the ground split open and swallowed part of the city whole. But I also had to let that go. You've got that choice, too."

The surge of guilt Will used to feel - just for being a Queen, just for being his grandmother's grandson - doesn't wash over him the same way, this time Alex brings up his father's death in the Undertaking. But it laps at the edges of his being, anyhow.

"I don't know how," Will confides. "How do you just decide to forgive her? She doesn't deserve it."

"No," Alex agrees. "She doesn't. But _I_ do. You do, too. I wish she were in jail. Personally, I think she belongs there. The jury didn't see it that way. Not in this life. But everybody answers for their sins eventually. I gotta believe God's gonna hold her responsible for all the lives she took when she meets her maker. I'll leave that to Him and live my life like my Papa would've wanted me to. You oughta think about doing the same."

Will wouldn't know where to start and he honestly has no clue how to respond, but he's saved by Javi and Elliot joining them, the girls they'd been hanging out with are nowhere to be seen.

"Beer!" Elliot smiles brightly, stealing Will's mug.

"Hey!" Will protests, shoving his friend.

"You're the one who put it down," Javi says. Like that's some kind of excuse.

"Don't look at me," Alex shrugs. "I learned that _years_ ago."

"It's cool," Will says when Elliot tries to hand him back his mug. "I'm gonna head out anyhow, I think. I've gotta pick up Bethy in the morning and it's getting late."

"You're no fun, old man," Javi tisks, but he's laughing as he says it and Will knows better than to take him seriously.

"We seeing you tomorrow?" Elliot asks. "Javi's sister's coming and she's _va-va-voom_."

"Hands off my sister!" Javi says, whirling on Elliot and suddenly deeply serious. "Sisters are off limits. Not cool, man. Not cool at all."

"Chill, Javi. He was kidding," Alex says, gripping the other man's shoulder hard in an attempt to rein him in. It might work better if anyone actually believed Elliot wasn't serious. Still… Will can't believe Elliot would ever screw around with Javi's sister. Their team means a hell of a lot more to all four of them than to risk it over something like that.

"I'll be there," Will agrees. "Bringing Bethy with me, so maybe try to keep it PG. Okay?"

"You got it," Elliot agrees. "I'm cool, Javi. I swear. I'm just messing with you."

While those two have some kind of silent communication thing going on, Will tilts his head toward Alex in long-overdue thanks. He's always valued Alex's insight to things and tonight is no different.

"Have a good night, vato," Alex tells him. "Think about what I said, yeah?"

There's no doubt he will, really, but Will can't imagine ever finding the level of peace with his grandmother that Alex has managed. Maybe he's just too close to it. Maybe it's because they're family that it's so very complicated. But the parts about Amelia…

 _"_ _...there isn't much that sucks more than loving a girl who's scared of her own feelings._ "

It's true, Will thinks as he bids the boys goodbye and heads out. But that doesn't change that he knows they could be happy together if she gave him half a chance, that he would never, _ever_ break her heart if I could help it. And he doesn't know how to turn off his own feelings any more than he knows how to make her comfortable with her own.


	45. February 2034

**February 2034**

Truth be told, Felicity should never have expected it to take this long for the truth to come out. Any reasonable person would have anticipated their secrets coming to light long ago. But it's been years, decades even, and she's grown complacent as time has worn on.

She's also, apparently, forgotten that her sister-in-law is both sharp and crafty.

Thea Queen is more than capable of keeping a secret, but she's also more than capable of waiting for the opportune moment to out it.

Traitor.

It had all started innocently enough. Nate has a school project on genealogy and - Nate being Nate - he hadn't been content to make due with the information and photos on his sisters' family trees from years past. No, he needed to do his own work from the ground up with raw data and new photos. It really hadn't mattered that the information gathered and presented would be exactly the same. Not to Nate.

So, he'd started with census data. Oliver's side of the family is the easy half of things. The Queens and Deardens have been well-documented public figures for a very long time. And Nate traces back to the early-1800s with ease. Felicity's side is a bit harder… especially her father's half. It's not like he's ever been around. Felicity has a vague memory of her paternal grandparents, but it's her mom who fills in the gaps the most. Nate doesn't seem to pick up on anyone's discomfort with the conversation - he's so very naive sometimes - but it's not an easy talk for any of the adults involved.

Frank subtly rubs Donna's back as she relays as much as she knows for her grandson's sake and Felicity's glad for it. Frank's been at her mom's side for just over a decade now - has stuck around longer than her own father, now that she thinks about it - and while Felicity's surprised they haven't gotten married, for all intents and purposes he's her stepfather.

It's strange, she thinks, to know that isn't true in the other universe, the one the first Ellie came from. She wonders what else is different, how many other changes that magical little four-year-old inadvertently caused. But, ultimately it doesn't matter. Her mom seems happy here and it sounded like she'd been happy in that other timeline as well. And that's the part that counts.

Donna has a few pictures she brings with her, ancient things tucked away in a box somewhere that she long ago left to collect dust. Some, Felicity hasn't seen in ages. Some, she's never seen at all. And, in spite of herself, she finds she's enraptured by the yellowed pictures of her grandparents and great-grandparents on both sides. It's not _them_ exactly, who pull at her attention. It's the echoes of her own children she can see in their faces. It's Ellie's smile on her grandfather's lips and Jules' angular cheekbones on her great-grandmother's face and Nate's eyes looking back at her from her grandmother's picture. And really, how could she be expected _not_ to be pulled in by that.

It's jarring, leaves her thinking about people she hasn't given a thought to in decades, but that part isn't the problem. No, the problem is the next day when Thea shows up with a sly smile and huge bag that Felicity doesn't have the foresight to question.

Regret, on that front, comes quickly.

"I already talked to Grandma," Nate points out as Thea navigates her wheelchair over to the coffee table.

"Oh, I know," Thea assures him. "But Grandma doesn't have the good stuff. She's all facts and formal photos. You come to Aunt Thea for the real stories."

That should've been another big clue, but at this point Felicity is more concerned about her husband's secrets than her own. Oops?

"Besides," Thea continues. "Jules and I had a lunch date today so she could spruce up my wheels more." She gestures dramatically at the partially painted side of her wheelchair.

It's new, the wheelchair. Thea had put off getting one for longer than she probably should have, but the need for more help than her cane had been a hard admission for her to make. It had been a decision she'd made at Christmas, when she realized the only way she and Roy were going to be able to enjoy the trip she was giving him was if she had a bit more mobility. She's not completely reliant on it - not yet - but she's using it more often than not and she seems equal parts relieved by how much more she can do and frustrated at her own needs. In her own typical, off-handed way, Jules had offered to help her make it a little less sterile, a little more her own, and the two of them had gotten to work planning out a way to make Thea's chair a bit more fashionable.

Felicity isn't sure she's ever seen her husband as grateful to anyone as he was to Jules after finding out what she'd done.

"I'm here," Jules announces, tromping into the room in paint splattered jeans and a battered KISS shirt. She has a bucket of spray paints in hand.

"You are _not_ doing that in my living room," Felicity says immediately, eyeing the paints and her 19-year-old daughter in turn.

"Obviously," Jules replies, rolling her eyes. "We'll take it out back in a bit. You check out the new ramp yet, Aunt Thea? Dad and Uncle Roy played carpenter. Don't worry. It'll hold. Will and I jumped up and down on it a lot just to make sure."

Felicity quirks her head to the side at that with a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. What a mental image that is… their 19-year-old daughter and 25-year-old son jumping up and down on a ramp. It's equal parts thoughtful and childlike, two qualities that Will seems to bring out in Jules. She's glad for both.

"I have not checked it out yet," Thea tells her, looking every bit as amused as Felicity feels. "But I will. That dad of yours had turned into quite the handyman, huh? Ramps everywhere."

"Not everywhere," Nate counters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He can be so serious, sometimes, so literal. "Just the ground floor."

"Well, that's probably enough," Thea tells him, leaning in conspiratorially. Nate looks relieved at that, like he'd thought his aunt might be upset she couldn't traverse the entire house, but he's also clearly still unhappy about her restricted access to their home.

Limitations on Thea's mobility seem to bother Nate more than anyone else. More than Thea herself, even… at least judging by the face she presents to them all - Felicity's not entirely convinced she's as accepting of the changes to her body in private as she is aloud. But, Nate is such a feeler, such a sensitive kid, and he wants the whole world to shift to accommodate his aunt rather than see her struggle. He wants everything as unchanged as possible. Reality is a lot harsher than that and it forces him to catch glimpses of how his Aunt Thea's body fights back against the effects of her condition and decades of treatments she's put it through. Nate mostly handles this by metaphorically sticking his head in the sand, but sometimes he's visibly frustrated and defensive instead and Felicity hasn't been able to figure out how to help him through it.

It's going to be so very hard on him when Thea inevitably loses her struggle. It'll be unthinkably hard on all of them, but Nate…

"Where's my Ellie-bug?" Thea asks, looking around and snapping Felicity back to the present where her sister-in-law is alive and coping relatively well. A swell of guilt rises up at her thoughts a moment before. It's unfair to Thea to fast-forward to the end of her journey. It's unfair to all of them, really. They have her here now and treating her like the embodiment of what's happening to her is a disservice to everyone.

"She went for a run with Dad," Nate says, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse inside the canvas bag Thea is drumming her fingers against on her lap. "She'll be back soon, I think."

"Good," Thea grins. It's an impish smile and for an instant she looks like the teenager Felicity first met all those years ago. "She won't want to miss this. I come bearing gifts. Jules, pull up a seat. I do believe you're going to enjoy this."

That's more than enough to pique Jules' curiosity and the smile on Thea's face sends a premonition of dread through Felicity. Her sister-in-law is up to something.

"I'm going to tell you a story," Thea says as Jules sits. She and Nate both eye their aunt with rapt attention. Felicity is every inch as interested, but a whole lot more wary. It's well-founded. "Once upon a time, your parents got married. It was lovely. Well… aside from a scuffle we tried to keep from them, but that's a story for another time."

Felicity can't help but snort and roll her eyes at that. Scuffle is a bit of an understatement, but hey… everything had gone off without a hitch in the end. Or, well, actually there was the one hitch, but it was the intended one, so that was sort of the point.

"But, what was-" Nate starts.

"Another time," Thea cuts him off, waving dismissively. "Trust me, this is better."

"Okay…" he says warily. And, bless him, he's sitting there with his tablet in hand ready to take notes.

"So, your parents were getting married," Thea continues. "And I put myself in charge of a lovely little video montage for the reception. Cute little snippets of their adorably sappy life together, which we projected down onto the tables like centerpieces."

"I've seen that," Nate tells her, sounding slightly disappointed.

" _Patience_ , my man," Thea insists. "I'm setting the scene, here."

"Sorry. Go on," he nods, sitting back and watching her. Jules, expectedly, keeps quiet and soaks in everything being said.

"As part of my incredibly selfless and generous efforts, I tracked down as many pictures as I could," Thea continues. This is when the warning bells in the back of Felicity's head get loud enough she can't quite ignore them anymore. "Your grandmothers were a huge help, but so were old news clippings, the Lances, old college roommates..."

"Thea, what does this have to do with genealogy?" Felicity asks, a dangerous tone to her question.

Unsurprisingly, Thea just grins wider, looking as chipper as can be. "Understanding our background better _is_ genealogy, right?"

She's stretching things, but Felicity lets it slide… for the moment.

"Part of the point of a family tree is seeing just how human your ancestors were," Thea says, looking back to the kids. "It's not just names and dates. It's how they lived, too. It's knowing that your dad's great-great-great uncle panned for gold, but was so bad at it that he quit and opened a tavern instead. It's knowing your mom's great-great grandmother invented a part still used in railroads today, even if her husband got all the credit."

"She _did_?" Nate asks, wide eyes turning to his mom with more excitement than she'd have expected. But then Thea's always been good at building up a story.

"Yup," Felicity replies with a smile. "Somewhere my mom has a box of things that belonged to my dad. There's a letter in there that his great-grandmother wrote to the local paper, calling them out for crediting her invention to her husband. Of course… her husband was more than willing to call it his own. And both of these things tell you everything you ever need to know about my father."

She's learned bits and pieces about her dad over the years. Her mom has given her a glimpse now and then, little windows into what her dad was really like. As best as she can tell, her father is a greedy, manipulative, brilliant man who will use anyone and everyone around him to his own benefit. Given her high profile job and marriage as well as her extreme wealth, Felicity suspects her mother thought that her dad would try to find a way to insert himself into her life and exploit his relationship with them. But she hasn't seen her father since she was a little girl. That he's steered clear of them shows that maybe he has one redeeming quality, anyhow. She doesn't need him in her kids' lives.

"See? Family trees are great," Thea's chipper voice chimes in. "They're even better when they come with art."

Let it never be said that Thea Queen Harper doesn't know how to make a dramatic presentation. With great flourish, she tosses the top of the box aside, grabs the photo on top and slaps it down on the coffee table.

For a long moment, everyone is utterly silent as Felicity's cheeks flush and her skin pales simultaneously.

"Oh. My. _God_ ," Jules announces before cracking up in riotous laughter. "Oh… _Oh_ that's…"

"That's not mom," Nate says. His poor little voice is so uncertain.

"Thea," Felicity admonishes.

"Family history's important," she replies brightly.

"Oh my God, mom, the ankh and everything." Jules is positively cackling with amusement. She can scarcely catch her breath and her eyes are tearing up through her laughter. For all Felicity's embarrassment, she can't help but think this is worth it for Jules' reaction alone. She's so very beautiful when she's expressive and happy. Nate's reaction, however, is another matter entirely.

"That doesn't look like mom," he says. It's so uneasy, so quiet that Felicity might not have heard the eleven-year-old had she not been specifically listening for him.

"Oh, that's me," she tells him as she sits down next to her little boy and wraps an arm around him. "People change, Nate. We learn and grow and refine who we are as we do. I wasn't born with dyed blonde hair and a pair of heels, you know."

"Did you go listen to death metal while reading Anne Rice in the cemetery or…?" Jules asks. God, she's so amused.

" _No_ ," Felicity counters. And it's true. She did not do those things… simultaneously, anyhow. "I mostly spent a lot of time on the dark web raging against The Man."

"To be fair, The Man had it coming," Jules acknowledges. "Do you still have that jacket somewhere?" she asks, a hopeful edge to her voice. The smile seems permanently affixed to her face at the moment and Felicity finds it's contagious, spreading across her own lips even as she shakes her head at her daughter. "If you do, can I borrow it? That thing is vintage awesome."

"Pretty sure I Goodwilled it before you were even born, but I'll ask Grandma Donna if she happens to have it in a box somewhere since _apparently_ she was hoarding things from my goth days," Felicity replies.

"It doesn't look like you," Nate says again. He's clearly having trouble processing this.

"Wait til you see the pictures of your dad," Thea tells him, leaning in with a devilish grin. "There's his mugshots of course, but there's also one I like to call his serial killer picture."

"No, I mean… it's just…" Nate starts, his brow furrowing as he shakes his head and looks down at the picture of his mom. "It's just, she looks like Jules."

"Excuse you, I do not wear all black," Jules protests with a snort.

"I didn't mean that," Nate huffs. "I mean she looks like you. Or, I guess you look like her. _Just_ like her."

Felicity looks back to the picture with fresh eyes. She hadn't been thinking about the shot in terms of her older daughter, but now that it's been suggested, she sees the likeness immediately and it's way more than just genetics.

She's nineteen in that shot, the same age Jules is now, and with her hair dark and her skin paler, she really does look strikingly similar to her daughter. Glancing up at Jules, she finds the teenager biting her lip and staring down at the picture with smiling eyes. Her cheeks are rosy and she's only barely masking how deeply this affects her. It's unexpected, but maybe it shouldn't be. Her whole life, Jules has needed to see more of a connection to her parents, but fought against showing it.

"I've always seen a lot of myself in Jules," Felicity says. Ostensibly, she's responding to Nate, but in truth her words are for Jules. The girl's eyes snap up to meet hers at the statement. There's a soft sense of surprise and gratefulness there, a window into the vulnerability Jules so rarely shows, and Felicity finds herself mirroring the look almost exactly, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of the front door, though, and all four of them turn to find Ellie and Oliver returning from their run. They must have really pushed themselves because they're both a sweaty mess and Felicity finds herself gnawing on her lower lip as she looks her husband up and down. He'll be fifty next year, but he's still in the best shape of anyone she's ever met and she's so affected by him that her skin tingles just at the sight of him. It's like her nerves awaken whenever he's near, like they've learned to anticipate his touch. By the time she finishes skimming her eyes down his body - and that takes a minute because his sweaty shirt is clinging to his abs and God _damn_ but that's worth spending some time looking at - she finds him looking back at her with a wolfish grin.

"Gross," announces Thea loudly. "Save it for the bedroom, would you?"

"We didn't do anything!" Felicity protests, head snapping to the side to look at her sister-in-law. Her flaming cheeks probably don't work in her favor, though, and Thea clearly doesn't buy a word of it.

"We could, though," Oliver adds. And, _oh_ … he's in that kind of mood, then, isn't he? Well that's just delightful. Felicity finds herself distracted by trying to come up with plausible ways to escape with her husband without making it super obvious precisely what they're doing, and the conversation around her only barely registers.

" _Ew_ , Ollie," Thea gags, wrinkling her nose.

"I don't come into your house and give you a hard time about staring at your husband, do I?" Oliver asks.

"If you do, can I come? That sounds like fun," Jules says.

"Why are adults gross?" Nate sighs dramatically.

"Hey, what's up with the mopey look, Jules?" Ellie asks. It's that last question that pulls Felicity back into the moment and she looks toward Ellie to find her quizzically appraising the photo on the coffee table. "That's a little over-the-top for you, don't you think?"

Part of Felicity wants to protest that it is not - in fact - over-the-top, but mostly she finds herself just blinking at her not-quite-sixteen year old daughter. She and Jules look a great deal alike, yes, but to be confused for each other by her own daughter…

"That's your mom," Oliver laughs, looking over Ellie's shoulder.

"It _is_?" Ellie gasps, her eyes darting between the photo and her mother's face and back again. "Really?"

"Really," Thea confirms. "And that, my darling niece, is just the start of what I've brought along for the day. There's a whole box where that came from. Just want til you see the goods I've got on your dad."

"Thea," Oliver groans.

"Fair is fair, brother-mine," she tells him, her tone absurdly cheery. "I've been looking forward to this day too many years to turn back now."

"Fine," he sighs, relenting. He always caves when Thea's involved. Felicity suspects he always has. His sister means so very much to him.

"Great!" Thea claps gleefully. "Shall we start with the mugshots or the party pictures? My personal favorite involves him drunkenly wearing someone else's underwear as a hat while he and your Uncle Tommy played Twister with a bunch of sorority girls using dyed whipped cream."

Nate turns so beat red at this idea that he looks like he's got the worst sunburn in history and Felicity honestly feels bad for her poor, sensitive little boy.

"Dad!" Ellie protests with a sharp laugh, looking over her shoulder at her father who has his lips pressed tightly together as he nods at his sister.

"Keep it PG-13, Thea," Oliver directs.

"Obviously," Thea scoffs. "They can google for the rest of it."

"No," Felicity counters. "They really can't. There are advantages to marrying a computer wiz, you know."

"Have I mentioned lately how lucky Ollie is to have you?" Thea asks, head quirked to the side. "Because he is. Like, really lucky. Like 'won the lotto' lucky."

"I'm aware," Felicity smiles. "So is he for that matter."

"Good," Thea says crisply. "He should be. Now… back to my treasure trove of evidence from my darling brother's less wholesome days."

"This is gonna be a really long day, isn't it?" Oliver asks, rubbing at his brow.

"Maybe for you," Thea grins with a shrug as she grabs another photo from her box of evidence. "Now… kiddos… I present to you exhibit A…"

By the time Thea's done, Felicity's not sure who's more embarrassed, Nate or Oliver, but Thea's beyond gleeful at her presentation and that means a lot. Will stops by with a pile of laundry near the end and reacts pretty much opposite to his little brother. But then Will and Oliver have always had a lot in common and Felicity suspects he loves seeing the younger, goofier side of his father. Ellie mostly just shakes her head at her dad in some mixture of amusement and judgement, which is a combination that seems universal amongst fifteen-year-olds.

Jules, though… Jules pays little attention to the photographic evidence of her father's boyhood antics. She winds up holding the picture of her mom, looking down at it with a soft kind of joy that rings entirely true. And Felicity… Felicity finds herself paying more attention to that than the teasing going on around her.

She's not surprised at all when Jules slips that photo into her pocket, keeping it for herself. But she is surprised when Jules offers her a hug and a kiss on the cheek before she and Thea eventually make their way out back to work on the wheelchair art. Everyone else's embarrassment aside, that reaction alone makes the entire day worth it. And, in spite of Nate's suddenly inability to look his father in the eye and Ellie's joyous taunting of her dad, Felicity's pretty sure Oliver agrees. As Will raids their fridge, Nate scurries upstairs with his tablet and a few choice photos, and Ellie disappears to go take a shower, Oliver wraps his arms around Felicity and presses a lingering kiss to her temple.

"I love seeing her happy," he says, looking toward the doorway Thea and Jules had disappeared through.

He could have meant either of them. His statement surely applies to both, but Felicity instinctively knows he means their daughter.

"She's so beautiful when she smiles and laughs," Felicity agrees, leaning back against him.

"Of course she is," he says. A chuckle rumbles through his chest and she feels it through her whole body. "She looks just like you. And I'm so very glad she does."

Felicity looks back over her shoulder at him with a blatantly affectionate smile, reaching up to touch his sweaty hair. She can't mind. "You know… as much as I love this amazing hug, now we _both_ need a shower."

"We do," he agrees, raising one eyebrow at her. It somehow manages to look suggestive and she unsuccessfully fights a shiver going down her spine at the sight of it. "We should probably shower together. It's important to save water, after all."

"Did you use that line on a girl after the whipped cream Twister game?" she asks. It's all amusement at her husband's expense.

"Not successfully," he laughs. "If I remember correctly, Tommy shoved me into the pool and I wound up falling asleep on the lawn. I woke up to find someone - and by someone I mean Tommy - used a Sharpie to draw some dirty pictures on my chest."

"It could've been worse," Felicity points out. "It could've been on your face."

"That's how I know it was Tommy," Oliver agrees. "Now about that shower…"

"Lead the way, stud," Felicity winks. "Just don't expect me to play whipped cream Twister on the way. I'm bendy, but I'm not _that_ bendy."

"Flexibility is all about practice," Oliver grins widely, taking her by the hand and heading toward the stairs. "And I'm absolutely willing to help you train for that."

She laughs at him, open and brightly. "So selfless of you, Oliver. Of course you are."

He just grins, winks and - ultimately - follows through in a very, very thorough way.


	46. January 2035

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"strongJanuary 2035br /br /strongBy the third time Jules walks past his door, Oliver notices. By the fifth time, he's /br /"You can come in, you know," he tells her when she appears again in the threshold. Her eyes go wide and her feet suddenly seem glued in place against the wood floor of the hall. Her gaze nervously darts around the room as she chews her /br /It is, by far, the most anxious he's seen his oldest daughter since that horrible day a year after her kidnapping. That moment had been a turning point for her. He doesn't know emwhat /emexactly got through to her - maybe it was a combination of everything… probably it was a combination of everything - but something did and she's seemed more positive, more settled in recent months and that's been a relief to see. br /br /College has been good for her. Not the classes, per se, but the independence, the freedom - after those first few months of adjustment anyhow. Jules has fought tooth and nail for that since she was far too young to even spell the words. It's an amazing thing to watch in her now, to see her grow by leaps and bounds, to watch her become the incredible young woman standing a few feet away from him now. He'd been so sure she would move out the instant she turned 18, or at least when she started college, but the dorms wouldn't take dogs and she'd refused to leave Buster /br /He'd never known how grateful he could be to a emdog /em, but he is. Because he's gotten a front row seat to watch his amazing little girl turn into an amazing young woman. He knows what a gift that /br /"You're busy," Jules says, gesturing aimlessly. "You look busy. Are you busy? I should go and let you… be busy."br /br /Even if he emhad /embeen, he'd have dropped everything at that. It's a rare day that Jules rambles like her mother. br /br /"I'm done, actually," he tells her, which is almost true. He puts the papers he'd been highlighting in a drawer - fighting with party leadership over how to get guns off the streets is a never-ending battle - and he motions for his daughter to come into his /br /She rubs her hands against her thighs for a moment in a clear sign of tremendous nerves before scurrying in, all staccato motion that jolts to a stop right behind the chair opposite /br /"I should…" she gestures back toward the door before swiftly going over and closing it and then returning to her position opposite /br /She clenches onto that chair like a literal /br /"Jules, what's going on?" he asks. Her apprehension is tremendous and her nerves have spilled over, flooding him as well. He doesn't worry much about either of his girls, not about everyday things, not like he does with Nate. They're both so self-reliant, so strong - sometimes to a fault, but that's another matter entirely. Now, though… other than the mess a year and a half ago that had led to a really gorgeously rebuilt treehouse, he can't remember the last time he saw his daughter this /br /...Maybe that time she was sixteen and called him to ask for a ride home because she'd gone to a party and everyone was far too drunk to /br /She'd emdefinitely /embeen nervous then. br /br /But she's 20 now and definitely sober and he can't begin to guess what's going on, but he's increasingly scared the longer she takes to say /br /"You should sit down," she tells /br /His brow furrows and he blinks at her in confusion. "Honey, I am sitting down," he tells /br /"Oh… right," she breathes out with a strangled little laugh. "We. I meant we. We should sit down. Or just me, since you already are."br /br /Her knuckles are white against the chair and her already fair skin is positively ashen, but she makes no move to take a /br /"Jules… sit down," he tells /br /"Right," she says, nodding as she follows his instruction and folds her hands in her lap. She swallows hard, none of the anxiety fading /br /"You want to tell me what's going on?" Oliver /br /From the way she pauses and blows air through her thinned lips, he's not sure emhe /emwants her to. But no… she's here for a reason and whatever that reason is, good or bad - and wow does he have a suspicion right now which one of emthose /emit is - she obviously needs him. br /br /"Not really," she says after a moment in a very soft voice as she stares at her hands. "I kinda think you and mom are gonna be mad at me. Like emsuper /emmad… I don't want to tell you. But I sorta have to. You're gonna find out anyway."br /br /Oliver's heart damned near stops and everything seems very, very loud. The clock ticks on the mantle and it utterly embooms /emin its resonance. He gulps heavily and it's so noisy he's sure Jules can hear it. She still hasn't looked up at him. br /br /Damn it… he needs to find emwords /em. br /br /"Are you okay?" he manages to ask her. It's the first question in his head and by far the most important. Everything else is /br /"Yeah, I'm… I'm kinda great, actually," she tells him, daring to look up briefly through her thick, dark /br /"Good… great," he chokes out, nodding as he licks his lips. He's so very not ready for this conversation. "There's…" He fumbles around a bit for words. "You know your mom and I love you no matter what and we'll support you regardless of what's going on, right?"br /br /He's fairly impressed with himself that he managed to not only find words, but ones that feel correct. br /br /"I mean… that's why I'm talking to you first," she hedges, picking at the hem of her jeans with her thumbnail. "I sorta thought you might get it cause you've been there, too, but mom…"br /br /His heart completely drops through the floor at that, because this is all adding up horribly clearly. "Your mom will understand," he promises. "It's not what she would have chosen for you, but she'll be there for you anyhow. I promise you that."br /br /Jules eyes go wide at that she finally meets his gaze. "You already emknow /em?" she asks. br /br /"Your comments aren't exactly subtle, Julianna," he tells /br /"And you're not mad?" she /br /"I can't say I'm thrilled," he replies. "This is going to change everything for you and I'm worried that you're not ready. But, all we want is to see you happy and successful, Jules, even if it's not on a path we would have picked for you."br /br /Annoyance creeps over her face and the usual defensive look he's accustomed to with his older daughter shows up in full /br /"I emam /emready!" she insists. "I've wanted this forever!"br /br /He stops. Blinks. All of the sudden a whole lot of this doesn't add /br /"What?" he /br /She continues on, but more because she's on a roll already than that she heard him. "I know I'm young and I know the timing isn't great, but this opportunity is like once in a emlifetime /emand I am ready. I have to take it. I just have to!"br /br /Oliver pauses at that, takes stock of everything that's been said and very slowly asks. "Jules… what are you talking about?"br /br /"I auditioned for the Starling City Dance Company and I got accepted."br /br /The words honestly don't register in his mind immediately and she clearly takes that the wrong way because she's suddenly a tumble of words that she can't seem to get out fast /br /"I know it's just an apprentice dancer and the pay is like… practically non-existent." She lets out a little laugh. "But it's not like I don't have a trust fund and this is totally what I want. It's what I've always wanted and it's just really, really, emreally /emimportant to me and I can't even believe it's happening, but it's not like I can do this emand/emcollege so… I dropped out."br /br /She's cringing, waiting for whatever lecture or disappointment she thinks is bound to come, but his brain is still stuck on the first part of her whole /br /"You got a spot with the Starling City Dance Company?" he asks in /br /"...Yeah," she replies. "I did."br /br /"Jules, that's… oh my god. Jules! I'm so proud of you!" He's out of his chair, around the desk and pulling her up into a crushing hug before she can even /br /"Really?" she asks, looking up at him hopefully, like she's half waiting for this approval to evaporate into thin air. "Even though it means I'm not finishing college?"br /br /"You were never going to be a doctor or a lawyer or a businesswoman, Jules," he tells her. "I've known that since you were three. And you're right. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I'm so excited for you. This is amazing."br /br /Her smile is blinding and relief shines brightly from her pale blue eyes. Right up until the earlier part of the conversation catches up with her, anyhow. "Wait, if you didn't know I got in with the dance company, what did you think I was talking about?"br /br /"Nothing," he denies quickly, tremendously uncomfortable with the turn that the conversation has taken. "Don't even worry about that, sweetheart."br /br /"Oh my god," she says pushing back from him and staring at him incredulously. "Did you think I was empregnant /em?" br /br /"Uh…" he says, because words have completely escaped him for the /br /"Dad!"br /br /"Well, I'm sorry!" he counters. "Can you blame me? You were so concerned and said you thought I'd relate but mom wouldn't understand and it just… made sense."br /br /"I meant because you'd dropped out of college," she clarifies. "I'm not pregnant."br /br /The breath of relief he gives at hearing those words is almost embarrassing. "Good, because I'm not old enough to be a grandfather. That's right up there with you getting a spot at the dance company, as far as good news goes."br /br /"You're telling me," she shudders. It's like her body is trying to shake off the very /br /"I didn't even know if you were seeing anyone," he /br /"I'm not," she replies. "At least… I think I'm not after dropping out. There was someone… sort of. But he wasn't exactly thrilled I quit my art classes. We had a bit of a falling out over it. I'm pretty sure that's done."br /br /"You were dating a classmate?" Oliver /br /"Sure…" Jules says slowly. "Let's go with that."br /br /Oliver greatly dislikes the sound of that. "Jules… were you dating a emteacher /em?" It's been awhile since he's killed someone, but he definitely remembers what that urge feels like and it's back in full force all of a /br /"Are TAs really teachers?" she asks, like that's some kind of a philosophical question. "em Relax, /emDad. He's 26, not 56 and it's a non-issue now anyhow."br /br /That statement makes his eye twitch a bit. Jules alone seems to have the ability to make him do that. It might as well count as a hobby for her at this /br /"You know you're wrong though, right?" she asks, looking entirely too self-satisfied for his /br /"About what?" he questions, against his better /br /"You're emtotally /emold enough to be a grandfather. Will's 27. By the time mom was 27, she had a stepson, me and Ellie on the way."br /br /"Sometimes I think you just enjoy being cruel," he /br /"Mmm," she nods. She looks so much like Thea in this moment that it's jarring. "Sometimes I really do."br /br /"All kidding aside, Jules," he says, shaking his head in amazement at her. "I really am so very proud of you. You've worked for this for a long time."br /br /She shuffles her feet a bit, uneasiness settling over her like a blanket. For a moment he thinks maybe she's being bashful. But that's not it exactly and he realizes what's going on the moment she opens her mouth /br /"You didn't… make any phone calls or anything, did you?" she asks. "Or point an arrow anyone's direction? All 'em Director Thompson, you will not fail this dancer /em?'" br /br /He smiles at that. It's all pride, pride that his not-so-little girl wants to achieve everything by her own merit. For all her missteps and fumbles along the route of adolescence, Jules has always had a work ethic that puts his to shame when he was her /br /"I didn't do a thing," he /br /"Did Grandma Moira?" she continues. "Because I know how much weight her name carries there. I'll be performing at the Mary Dearden Concert Hall, after all. Her mother's endowment emstill /emruns that place and she died like an eon ago."br /br /"When I was ten, actually, but thanks for putting my age somewhere near prehistoric," Oliver corrects. "If she did, she didn't tell me about it. But I really don't think she would. You earned this Jules. You did it all on your own."br /br /"Yeah," Jules agrees, biting her lip to hold in a pleased little /br /"I bet that feels pretty good," Oliver /br /"It really does," she replies with a little laugh. She breathes out a big sigh as she lets that feeling wash over her. Watching that feels like a /br /"Come on, kiddo," he urges. "Let's go tell your mom."br /br /"Are you really sure she's going to take it okay?" Jules asks, all her earlier bravado fading away and her nervousness surfacing once /br /"It'll be fine," he promises, draping an arm around her and pulling her close as they head to the door. "Start off by telling her you have big news and you're not pregnant. It can only get better from there."/p  
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	47. April 2050 and October 2032 sort of

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"strongApril 2050… along the other timelinebr /br /strongbr /It begins at the /br /Something tickles at the edges of Ellie's memory, a foreboding sense of premonition that leaves the not-quite thirty-two-year-old with the undeniable feeling that she's being watched. By some unseen foe or by fate is open for debate, but either way she knows emsomething /emis coming. It breathes down her neck like a predator, leaving goosebumps in its wake and every hair on edge. And she's right to feel ill-at-ease, to be on guard, but she'll wind up wishing later that she'd put the pieces together sooner. br /br /Or at /br /It's not her who sorts out what's happening at all. No, that honor falls to her /br /"Zoom's new lieutenant," her mother says with urgency, abandoning the surveillance monitor recordings, gripping Ellie's arm so tightly that the blood drains from her knuckles, turning them a ghostly white. "It's Splicer. I know it is. I'll never forget that man. Not after what he did. I know the way he walks, the way he stands. That's not the right mask, not yet, but Ellie… baby, it's emsoon /em. You need to be ready. Your whole family does."br /br /The words wash over her, steeling her spine and leaving her resolute and defiant. Splicer… he'd taken her once, taken Nate, too. The mark he'd left on her throat has never entirely gone away, but the experience had proven foundational. The kidnapping had taken the still-young Ellie's resolve and shaped it, made her into the barest reflection of the woman - the warrior - she'd one day become. She has always, emalways /emknown that she needs to be her own hero, to save herself. Zoom had made that clear from the very start. But it was the utter terror on Nate's face, the sound of his childish, broken cries that had pushed her along the path to become emmore /em. So… in his way, Splicer is a part of her own origin story. br /br /But that doesn't mean she doesn't want to go back and stop the whole thing from happening in the first /br /"You emcan't /em," her wife says emphatically, as if reading her mind. "You know you can't, Elle. You'll split the timeline again if you do."br /br /"Wouldn't that be better?" Ellie asks, laughing humorlessly and looking toward her own kids. Ellie had been just fourteen when she was taken, barely older than her son is now. She tries not to imagine Henry going through the same things - lord knows he's had more than his fair share of trauma - and she fails. She can see her kind-hearted, fragile boy in her own shoes under Splicer's taunts and knife. She wishes she couldn't, wishes she could will it away. But no amount of blinking clears the vision of her mind's eye. "At least then somewhere there'd be a version of me that didn't go through all of that. Somewhere that Nate wouldn't have had to see it all happen. He was too little. It was too much."br /br /She doesn't miss the way her mother blinks and looks away. She gets that now, knows precisely how it feels to be a parent that can't prevent her children's suffering. There's not a person in the world that Ellie would wish that on, least of all her own /br /"When does it stop then, Ellie?" her wife asks, her fingers stroking soothingly against the curve of her elbow. "Why not go destroy Zoom before he can ever hurt you? Why not stop your dad from ever getting on that boat or prevent the Undertaking? You'll make yourself crazy doing that. And you'll miss out on your life here with emus/emwhile you're trying to create a perfect version of the world that you never get a chance to live in."br /br /Oh, but the truth of that sits heavily atop her shoulders. Her whole frame droops under the weight of her wife's words. "Save yourself," her father says solemnly after a moment. His voice is firm and a little gritty. "You know how this goes, Ellie-bug. Messing with your own history is too dangerous. You and Nate survive. You both get past what happens and it shapes who both of you become. And I love those people. So, do what you need to do, but don't try to change things."br /br /She locks eyes with her dad, blue to blue, and easily finds both the depth of his resolve as well as the pain of his choice. Her mom has turned away from all of them, but her hand tangles with his in a show of solidarity - or maybe out of need for support. Ellie nods in reply to her father without even registering the /br /"Good," her wife says. "Good… now let's track the son-of-a-bitch."br /br /It takes days. Time, ironically, is on their side. They emknow /emhow things go, that they're meant to rescue her younger self, but it still feels like it takes ages. And, in that time, Splicer's mask changes, his gear shifts bit by bit, and it makes him seem more and more familiar. It's haunting, like her worst nightmare walking around - emjumping/emaround… he's a meta, after all, and he can step through time as easily as through a doorway - and Ellie can't quite breathe right for how badly she wants this over with, wants the slithering feeling of destiny waiting to crash down around her to stop creeping up her spine. br /br /"It'll be okay, Momma E," her son tells her, when he finds her overtired, staring at a screen and trying to track Splicer's movements. Sleep hasn't come easily to her these days, not with every single hair standing on edge across her body, not while she waits for the other shoe to drop. "I can watch the monitors for a bit, if you want. You still have to sleep."br /br /He's such a good kid, her Henry. He'd trusted easier than his sister that he was really welcome in their home, that he was really emfamily /em. Ellie thinks it's because he needed that so badly, but even with him it had taken nearly a year before it felt like he wasn't holding his breath, ready to be booted out the door at any moment. Monique was harder. She still is, in some ways. She's so fiercely protective, so ready for a fight that Ellie's surprised she hasn't found her daughter trying to suit up herself yet. She will one day, she knows. That'll come, but even Monique seems to know she's too young at fifteen to take on the /br /That alone makes her a bit wiser than Ellie had been at her /br /Ellie caves to her son's words, shuts off the monitors for the night and heads to bed, intent on making a token effort toward sleep, and making Henry promise to do the same. "It's about damned time," her wife grumbles as she slips beneath the comforter. But in contrast to her annoyed words, she wraps herself around Ellie and holds on /br /Known outcome or not, this is all terrifying and /br /But not for much /br /It happens two days later, too fast and too slow all at once. Splicer steps through time, sending off all kinds of alarms. Adrenaline spikes, rushing through Ellie's system like a drug and she immediately starts prepping her gear to follow in his /br /"If you get hurt, I'm gonna be super mad at you," Monique says, giving her a tight, quick hug. Henry holds on a whole lot /br /"I'll be fine. And I'll be back before you know it," she vows, touching both of her kids' /br /"Time passes at the same rate while you're gone," her wife reminds her. "You need to be back quickly."br /br /"Family-versary… I know," Ellie nods. Like she's going to forget the two year anniversary of them adopting their kids? That's not going to happen. "We know how long this takes, remember? I'll be back."br /br /At the time, they all think that's true. But then, at that point they only think they're dealing with their own timeline, not that other universe that Ellie inadvertently created way so many years /br /"You'd better," her wife tells her, stepping close and kissing her hard enough to make her heart race and her toes curl. They don't linger, though. There's too much she needs to do for /br /The goodbyes to her parents are just as swift. She thinks about calling Nate, but ultimately decides against it. She'll let him know when things are done. He doesn't need to know what's going on right now. She knows precisely how poorly that information would sit with /br /Henry's scared. She'd known he would be, but it's hard to block out the muffled sound of him crying as Monique hugs him. Ellie blinks back tears, pushing down the urge to just hold her son and calm his fears - there's no calming them right now - and turns away to punch in the directions for her temporal travel on the device attached to her arm instead. How she manages to make herself follow through and leave her crying children behind, Ellie isn't sure. But she does. And everything goes exactly as she remembers…br /br /Until it doesn' /br /Saving herself and Nate is jarring, but simple. Ellie remembers all of this. She knows Splicer's moves, knows where he's holding them both, can anticipate absolutely everything from how he fights to what he says. It goes as smoothly as she'd known it would and she wins easily, even if Nate's sobs echo in her ears and the sight of herself bleeding on the dirty, concrete floor is painfully hard to see. It's okay, though, because she knows it gets better, knows she and Nate both recover, and she can promise that to the younger versions of her /br /So… all of that is fine, right up until she leaves the younger version of her family behind and goes to drag Splicer back to her own time, to lock him away in Star Labs and toss away the /br /She just has to secure him… to press a few simple buttons and it'll be /br /But, that's when he looks at her - an anonymous evil hidden behind a haunting mask - and she sees his eyes are /br /"It's so easy for you, isn't it?" he asks, his tone sharp and mocking. She can't imagine what he means. There's nothing easy about any of this. "Knowing what happens, I mean," he clarifies, quirking his head to the side and staring at her with unnerving alertness. "This isn't the only version of you out there, though, is it? And you won't remember things you didn't go through."br /br /It takes a few seconds for his words to click in her head, but it's enough time for him to bend the tachyon flow around him, to manipulate the timestream, the barriers between universes. He shoves against her hard, letting the force knock him backwards, and he disappears through a rift in time, leaving a wild sense of panic and uncertainty roiling in Ellie's /br /The handcuffs she'd slapped on him clatter uselessly to the ground at her feet and Ellie scrambles to follow in his wake. She knows where he's going. She'd know even if it weren't for the scream of alarms on her suit warning her of precisely what Splicer had done. But it still takes more than an hour of recalibrating her equipment by hand before Ellie can chase after him. It's more than long enough for him to have grabbed her other self, to have done emanything /em, taken her anywhere, and Ellie is nauseous practically the whole time at the idea of what her other Ellie is simultaneously going through as she works. br /br /But she pushes forward anyhow and before long she finds herself pressing through the barriers between /br /The world she emerges in is not so different from her own. Not on its face, anyhow. She races through streets toward the lair. They're ones she's travelled her whole life, autumn leaves crinkling in her wake as her feet pound against the pavement. Except, in some ways they're not. The familiar icon of Queen Inc stands out along the skyline, but the building itself is different, rebuilt from the ground up after her stay here decades before. It's a reminder of what's the same, but also of what's changed… a notion that's only underscored when she arrives at the lair and finds nothing but an unfinished /br /It's not here. It's not emhere /em. It's never been here. br /br /Uncertainty is unfamiliar to this version of Ellie. She's spent much of her life zipping back and forth through time in her own universe, feeling like her life is preordained. But in emthis /emworld, in emthis /emtimeline, everything is unknown. It's unsettling. Is this how everyone else feels all the time? br /br /She can't imagine how they all manage. It's /br /But Ellie is far more than just a time traveler. She's a warrior, a survivor, her parents' daughter, and she knows how to use the resources at her disposal. It only takes her an hour to find the lair in this timeline - the tech in her suit, crafted by her mother and Cisco, is good for far more than just time travel - and she rushes into the Team Arrow headquarters to find her parents, John and Lyla already /br /"I'm sorry," she says breathlessly in place of a greeting. The hurried sense of panic filling the space grows utterly still as they all register her presence, but Ellie doesn't slow down at all. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know he'd come here. I didn't know he'd go after me emhere /em. If I had, I'd have…" Her voice trails off as she spots Nate, tiny little Nate, whole and hale and safe curled up in a chair with his arms wrapped around himself. "You're okay," she breathes out. There's that at least. br /br /"Ellie?" her dad asks, his voice choked up, the strain of so many emotions cracking his voice. He takes half a step toward her before looking back at Nate and reaching out to touch the boy's arm. "What do you mean he's okay?"br /br /"Where's Ellie?" she asks, ignoring his question for the moment. She has far more pressing concerns than allaying her parents' /br /"He took her. He took her and Jules…" her mother starts, shaking her head like she's fighting to even say the words /br /"Jules?" Ellie /br /"Julianna. Our older daughter," her dad /br /And oh… oh that… emoh /em. It's different. It sets Ellie's head spinning because there's not just the possibility that things will go differently here, but the certainty of it. She wonders if that's why Splicer left Nate alone in this timeline. Was it just to prove he could? Or did he lack the opportunity? But also… emJules /em. There's a Jules. She's always wondered about that older sibling in this universe, the one she spoke to, her lips pressed against her mother's still-flat stomach, but who she never had a chance to meet. br /br /So she had been right, then. It had been a /br /"I will help you get them back," Ellie vows. "I've beaten this guy before. He's here because of me. I'm so, so sorry, but I swear to you that I'll help you save them both."br /br /And she will. At any cost. At every cost, if she has /br /It's strange working side-by-side with her parents when they're barely older than her. Ten years doesn't seem like much to her these days and Ellie can sympathize with her mother more than she's used to at this point. She's just a woman, just a mom who's terrified for her children. Ellie gets that. She gets it better than she'd like. Growing up, her parents had seemed almost invincible to her. Whenever she time travels and sees them with fresh, mature eyes, it's jarring how very human they really /br /"Is he a threat to Sara and Connor?" Digg asks. Lyla looks ready to shoot someone, standing at his side. "Do we need to get them here?"br /br /The amount of trust he's placing in her is startling. He doesn't know her. Not really. Not emthis /emversion of her. But he puts his kids' safety in her hands and Ellie recognizes precisely how big a thing that is. br /br /And the truth is… the truth is she's not sure. Would Splicer take Sara or even Connor? Just to hurt her more? Maybe. He's got to be fully aware of how much that would gut /br /"Johnny, if Sara finds out that Ellie and Jules were kidnapped…" Lyla starts /br /Digg sighs, rubs at his furrowed brow with one hand. The strain of this is dangerously close to breaking all of them. Ellie can feel it. "I don't know how we'll rein her in, Lyla, but I'll handcuff her to a post in the lair for her own good if I have to," he tells his /br /"Things are already different. I can't promise you he won't take her," Ellie admits. "But he didn't take her in my timeline. I think he's already made his play. And he doesn't like exposure. If she's at school, he won't grab her there."br /br /"She is," Lyla agrees. "But just to be safe…"br /br /"Just to be safe, call in Frank and Roy," Oliver decides. "Put them at the schools to keep an eye out. Unless you want to call in a favor with Waller?"br /br /Ellie can't help her reaction. "Waller's emalive/em?" she asks, blinking at her father. br /br /"She shouldn't be?" Oliver /br /"No," Ellie says, wondering what else is different here. "She really shouldn't."br /br /"Frank and Roy will be fine," Lyla decides. "I trust them."br /br /"Don't let Frank tell my mom," Felicity says in a rush. Her voice shakes, a steady, underlying sense of panic readily visible in her every words and move. "I don't want her worried. I can't… I can't deal with…"br /br /"I'll make sure he knows not to," Lyla vows, pulling Felicity into a tight-but-quick hug of reassurance. "We're going to get this son-of-a-bitch and your girls will be fine. You have to believe that."br /br /Ellie looks away because she knows better and she can't stand to see the surety on their faces that Ellie emor /emJules will walk away from this the same as they walked into it. She doesn't even think as she touches the long-healed scar on her neck, but the sharp breath her father sucks in more than proves he noticed. Ellie pulls her hand back like it's burning and looks to her father. There's a whole silent conversation that lives in their eyes for a moment. He won't say anything aloud. This world is different. They don't emknow /emanything and he doesn't want to feed his wife's fears, but... but emGod /emhe's terrified. And she can't even tell him that's not well-deserved. It is. Splicer is a monster. No, worse than that, he's a man... a brutal, twisted, horrible man, the worst of humanity rolled up in one person. br /br /"He'll have taken them somewhere meaningful to me. Half of his weapons are psychological," Ellie says, shifting the conversation back to the urgent matter of finding her other self and the sister she's never /br /"Anywhere in mind?" Felicity asks, snapping back into Overwatch mode, her fingers ready on the /br /"I've got a few," Ellie confirms, rattling off a half dozen locations as she watches Nate where he sits with his chin on his knees, his cheeks wet and his nose red. He's ten. He's so little and he's so scared and it absolutely breaks Ellie's /br /"On it," Felicity says, honed in on her monitor. Lyla's on the phone, presumably with Frank or Roy, pacing on the other side of the room while Oliver and John talk in low voices between them, planning or consoling or something Ellie isn't privy to. That just leaves her and Nate and, God, she can't look at him like this and not say /br /"Hey, Bug," she greets, kneeling down to his level. He doesn't uncurl his arms from around his legs and he doesn't lift his head at all, but he does blink his red-rimmed eyes at her. "Do you know who I am?"br /br /"Think so," he mumbles. "Dad called you Ellie, so I figure you're the other her."br /br /"That's right," she agrees, stroking his hair soothingly. "You always were a smart kid."br /br /"I want my sisters," Nate sniffles, his voice trembling. "I want emmy /emEllie. And I want Jules."br /br /"I'm gonna bring them back to you, Bug. I promise you, okay? I'll do everything I can."br /br /"Can't you just go back to before he took them and stop him then?" Nate asks. "You can time travel."br /br /"It doesn't work like that, Kiddo," she tells him. "I really wish it did."br /br /His eyes well up again and he can't possibly keep in the tears. His little body shakes as he lets loose a sob and Ellie can't help but pull the boy into her arms. It's quieter than the other universe, far less traumatic, but it echoes of that experience anyhow and she can't stand it, she can't handle this, not /br /"Oh, Nater-Tater-Bug, don't cry, Buddy," she asks, rocking him slightly as he wraps his arms around her neck. She's not his Ellie. But she's eman /emEllie and for the moment it seems like that's sufficient. "I'm here to help, okay? Your mom and dad and I, we'll handle this. We did in my universe and we will here, too."br /br /"What about Will?" Felicity asks. It's jarring. Ellie had been so wrapped up in comforting Nate that she hadn't even realized her mother had set the computers to run and headed over to /br /"Splicer left him alone in my timeline. He and his family are fine," Ellie says. "I'm almost positive of that."br /br /"So Bethy's okay, too?" Felicity /br /And that… that doesn't compute. Ellie looks up at her mom from her crouched position, Nate still hugging her. "Bethy?" she /br /"Bethany," Felicity prompts. "His sister."br /br /"His emwhat /em?" Ellie asks, blinking in surprise. "You have another daughter?"br /br /"No," her mom startles. "She was Samantha's. You don't have Bethy in your timeline?"br /br /"Samantha doesn't have any kids other than Will," Ellie replies, but something tickles at the back of her brain. "What do you mean she emwas /emSamantha's?"br /br /It's Nate who answers. "Sam died earlier this year," he supplies. "Car accident. Bethy got hurt real badly, too."br /br /Ellie isn't sure how to process that. It's… she hadn't expected it, it doesn't make emsense /em. How had she - at age four - changed so much with just her presence alone. "Oh my God… Oh that has to be so hard on Will," she whispers, setting back on her heels and letting go of Nate. br /br /"It is," Felicity agrees. "If not Beth, who did you mean by Will's family?"br /br /Ellie licks her lips as she considers how - and if - she should answer that. For all the differences in their worlds, there are surely a lot of similarities, too. She's not just speaking from the perspective of another timeline but of another emtime /emas well. She knows full well that time has a way of fixing itself and giving too much information might throw things off course. br /br /Besides, 'family' might be too strong a word for Will and Amelia back in 2032 anyhow. Sure, they'd been engaged, but it's not like that had worked out the first time around. They'd been so young and Will in particular had seemed - even to her at the time - an immature 24-year-old. They'd sorted it out over the next few years, too in love and attached to each other to keep apart for long, though it hadn't been easy. But imagining Will without Amelia, now… she can't do it. Her sister-in-law has been such a part of her life for so long, so closely associated with Will, that it feels wrong that there's any universe where they're not /br /"Will and his… girlfriend," Ellie hedges /br /Nate sighs, "Will hasn't had a girlfriend since Allison."br /br /"Who is Allison?" she /br /"A girl he dated in his senior year at college," Felicity supplies, glancing back anxiously toward the computers where they run some kind of program. Ellie has the feeling this conversation is happening mostly because her mother needs a distraction while the systems do their job. She needs anything to make the panic shrink to a manageable level. "Not in your world, though, I'm guessing."br /br /"He's been with the same girl since his sophomore year at NCU," Ellie tells her. "She had regular seats behind the dugout and he couldn't help flirting with her between at-bats."br /br /"National City University…" Felicity echoes thoughtfully. "He went to Starling City University here. He didn't want to move away."br /br /"He didn't live in Star City with us growing up," Ellie supplies. "He stayed with his mom in Central City. He moved here in 2031 when his girlfriend got a job with dad in City Hall."br /br /Felicity blinks wildly at that and Ellie thinks she probably just gave away a whole lot more information than she'd thought she /br /"Oliver's a state senator here," she murmurs after a moment, looking back to where the man in question is compulsively sharpening arrows for lack of anything more productive to do at the moment. "Moira's still mayor."br /br /A strange pang of longing hits Ellie at the mention of the grandmother she scarcely remembers and only from this universe. What might it have been like growing up with her around, too? She can barely imagine /br /"Come here, Buddy," Felicity says, clearly talking to Nate and tugging the child into her arms. He goes easily, the comfort of his mother far surpassing that of his sort-of sister from the future. The two of them have always had a strikingly strong bond. Nate has always needed his mom to a degree that Ellie couldn't quite relate to, but that's especially true while he's still so little… so very little. "This is hard for you too, I'm sure," Felicity acknowledges, pulling Ellie's attention to her. She's surprised to find her mother has been scrutinizing her while she watches Nate. "It has to be."br /br /"He's just so young still," Ellie admits, words tumbling unbidden and without conscious thought. "In my time he's a grown man. He's nearly twenty-seven. But here… he's younger than my son."br /br /"...What?" Felicity breathes out in the quietest voice Ellie can imagine. It's enough to jar her to reality and color her cheeks. She really hadn't meant to say anything about her own family, but with the anniversary of the kids' adoption so soon and staring at Nate so young and so vulnerable, Henry in particular is surely on her /br /"I have two kids," she smiles at her mother. "Both adopted. They were older when we brought them into our family, but they needed us and I think my… my spouse and I needed them." It's strange biting back the word 'wife' but Ellie can't stand the idea of inadvertently outting her other self to her own parents in another reality. And honestly the way she worded it is clue enough to her mom that Ellie is internally panicking a bit right up until her mom speaks /br /"I'm so glad that you and your wife have them, then," she says, gripping Ellie's hand /br /The breath Ellie lets out is slow and unsteady as some of the tension leaks from her body. "I didn't know if you knew yet here."br /br /"Your dad and I had that figured out a long time ago," Felicity tells her. "Longer than you've ever realized."br /br /"Because of Sara?" Ellie asks. She emshouldn't /em. She knows that. But she also can't quite help herself. br /br /"Yeah," Felicity agrees. Ellie is tremendously careful to keep her face impassive as her mom responds. "Mostly because of Sara."br /br /"When we get them back, I won't have a lot of time," Ellie says, thinking through the words she wants to say. "I don't know if I'll have time to talk to your Ellie at all. I don't even know if I should. But she should know that love won't always be this hard for her. Can you tell her that for me? Even if things go differently here - and they might - tell her I know there are great things ahead for her in life. Will you do that for me?"br /br /"I would be more than happy to," Felicity promises with a nod. She's about to say something else, but whatever it is stays unspoken because the computer's alarms go off and everything, emeverything /emelse stops. br /br /Felicity scrambles back to the monitors in a rush, leaving Nate at the foot of the chair he'd been in earlier, and she barely beats Oliver there. Every ounce of anxiety they'd both fought to ease over the last five minutes has come back full force and they're equal parts down-to-business and terrified /br /"Oak and eighth," Felicity says, whipping around to look at Ellie. "Camera caught him through a window in the warehouse on the bottom floor."br /br /"That was intentional," Digg says, his voice grave and eyes locked on the /br /"It was," Ellie agrees. "He wants me to find him."br /br /"Well, he's got his wish," Oliver says, strapping on his quiver and grabbing his /br /"Is Nate safe here?" Felicity asks, looking to the /br /"The lair isn't even in the same place in my universe," Ellie tells her. "Even if he wanted to come after Nate, he wouldn't know where to go."br /br /"I'll stay with him," Lyla volunteers, dropping a hand to the boy's shoulder. "Okay, Nate? You can help me from here."br /br /"Why isn't Mom staying?" Nate asks, alert with /br /It'd gone unsaid before, but all of the adults know full well that there's no way Felicity is staying behind on a mission to save her teenage daughters from a madman holding them captive. No one tries to convince her to. Not even /br /"Ellie and Jules are gonna need her," Oliver says gently. "They're gonna be scared and need their mom, just like you do when you're scared, right?"br /br /"Yeah," Nate says, swallowing hard and looking to his toes. "... m'scared now, though."br /br /"You're gonna help me run mission from here, Nate," Lyla tells him firmly. "There's no time to be scared. We've got a job to do."br /br /Nate hates this. He loathes it with every inch of his being, but he nods anyhow. Helping Lyla gives him a distraction, something to emdo /emand a way to be useful. He has never wanted a damned thing to do with Team Arrow - he never will - but if he's really and truly needed by the people he loves, he'll be there regardless. br /br /Ellie wonders how much this experience will change him, who he'll become in this world, because the answer is most definitely a different man than in her /br /"I'm driving," Digg announces, grabbing the keys to the /br /They pause only to hug Nate, kiss the top of his head and whisper quick words of reassurance before hurrying toward the van, but Nate snags Ellie's hand as she moves past /br /"Bring them back to me?" he asks, trust and terror shining up at her. "All of them?" Lyla's arm wraps around him comfortingly but his gaze stays locked on /br /"You can count on me, Bug," she promises, giving him the most confident look she can muster. "Always. You got me? emAlways /em, Nate. Every version of me is gonna be here for you. Okay? You're my little brother and I love you."br /br /His lower lip quivers and his eyes water up again but he holds them back this time as he nods at her. She kisses the top of his head, murmuring a quiet "I love you, Bug," before heading toward the van without looking /br /She'll never know that those couple of moments - and the fact that she ultimately comes through, saving Ellie and Jules - means this Nate will look up to his Ellie more, will think her a hero far before she thinks herself /br /A split-second can change /br /But in this moment, they leave Nate and Lyla behind. Digg drives, as promised, while Ellie sits across from her parents in the back of a familiar van with the most incredible sense of deja vu roiling in her gut. She's done this. She's emjust /emdone this. Just hours ago she'd sat across from younger versions of her parents back in her own timeline as they rushed to save herself and her sibling. And, just like in her own universe, her dad rubs her mom's back as she holds a tablet in her shaking hands, glued to the stream of video of that security camera they'd caught a glimpse of Splicer through. br /br /It's a twenty minute drive with nothing but nerves to fill the empty /br /"Tell me about her?" Ellie asks. Both of her parents look to her, waiting for her to elaborate. "My sister," she clarifies. "Jules. I've always wondered… Would you tell me about her? Please?"br /br /It's quiet for a long moment and Ellie wonders if they're going to answer or if it's just too hard at the moment, but then her father starts. "She looks like your mom," he says as Felicity buries her head in his shoulder. She's shaking, crying against him as he rubs her back more, but she nods in agreement. "She's beautiful in every way," he chokes /br /"I've wanted to meet her for as long as I can remember," Ellie admits. "I've never had a sister. It's just me and Nate. And Will, of course, but he's so much older and he never lived with us, so it's different. I just want to know what that's like. What emshe's /emlike."br /br /"Perfect," Felicity says, swiping at the tears on her cheeks before forcing herself to sit up. "She's emperfect /em. And challenging. Jules is… she's everything all at once. She's fragile and strong, expressive and closed off. She can show you every inch of her soul through art or dance, but she'll fake bravado to protect her heart. She knows her own mind better than anyone I've ever met and she'll stand her ground no matter what, even when she shouldn't. She'll look out for others even at the expense of herself, but she never expects anyone else to do the same. Her smile is a gift and she doesn't give it as often as I'd like, but when she does she lights up the whole room so much that my heart hurts at the sight of it."br /br /"She's been so much better lately," Oliver reminds his wife, kissing her temple. "She's been more trusting, more open."br /br /"Until now," Felicity says, her voice breaking as she looks up at her husband. "After this, even if they're okay physically, it's not like they'll be the same."br /br /"We'll help them. Again," Oliver vows. "I won't lie to you, it might not be easy, but we'll get them through this, honey. I swear that to you."br /br /"You will," Ellie chimes in, drawing both of their attention back to her. "I know because you did for me and Nate in my world. And emyes /em, it changed things for us both. How could it not? But we both were okay… in time. Your girls will be, too."br /br /Her parents look more settled at that, even her dad who had been forcing a brave face that she's pretty sure he doesn't really feel. It's enough to make her regret what she's going to have to say /br /"But there is something else you should know," she tells them uneasily. The hard-won sense of calm that had started inching into the atmosphere disappears on a /br /"emWhat/em?" Oliver demands roughly. br /br /"The scar on my neck," Ellie says, touching her own skin and tilting her head so that it's more obvious to her parents. "Splicer gave this to me."br /br /Her dad had known, but it's different hearing it and both of her parents' reactions are instantaneous. They recoil against the idea and Ellie can't blame either of them in the least. The thought that emright now /emsome madman might be slicing a knife through their daughter's throat while they can do nothing to stop it is possibly one of the worst things imaginable. br /br /"No," her mom sobs, shaking her head almost manically. "No, emno /em. That looks… not my baby. That can't… I won't let him. I refuse." br /br /Her dad looks like he might break his teeth, he's clenching his jaw so /br /"He might not do it here," Ellie points out gently, slipping her hands into her mom's in support. "We can't know. But I wanted to prepare you just in case because if heemdoes /em, it looks bad. Okay? If she's hurt, I need you to remember that I got better. She will, too."br /br /"And Jules?" Oliver asks, his voice so affected that Ellie's heart breaks all over again. "What's he going to do to my baby?"br /br /Ellie doesn't have an answer for that. Not really. But from the way her mother's face crumbles in pain, she desperately wishes she /br /"Nothing at all, if I have a thing to say about it." That's the best response she can give and they all know it doesn't mean much. "They're counting on us. All we can do is move forward."br /br /"Two minutes out," Digg tells them from the driver's seat. He's been so quiet that Ellie had honestly forgotten he was there. That was intentional on his part, Ellie knows. For having such a big presence, Digg is awfully good at fading into the background when he wants to. And her parents had needed this moment with just her. He'd known that as much as she /br /It's dead silent for the next two minutes as Felicity tries to compose herself - she manages a pretty good job of it - and Oliver puts on his mask and dons his hood, quickly slipping into Green Arrow mode right before Ellie's /br /When they get there, when the van pulls to a stop before the warehouse where Ellie first fought Zoom as an adult, she grabs her father's arm as he tries to barrel out of the /br /"Let me go in first," she says heavily. "You need to focus on your girls. Splicer will focus on me."br /br /He barely hesitates before giving her a sharp nod of agreement and she hurries past him out of the van before he loses his patience and goes charging in on his own. She knows her dad too well to think he'll give her more than a moment to act. Digg's already standing beside the driver's door when she walks past /br /"Have the first aid gear ready," she says, snagging his arm and giving him a heavy look. He nods solemnly but says nothing as she lets go and heads purposefully toward the warehouse, ready to repeat a battle she's already /br /Like before, when she kicks in the door the metallic tang of blood fills her nose before she sees herself. It's thick and heady, overwhelming as it swirls with the dank, stale air of the warehouse and it makes her head swim... but only for an instant. Then, everything clears and she charges /br /Splicer stands a few feet before the two girls chained to the floor, a bloody knife in his hand and a feral laugh echoing from his masked face. Ellie can't focus on herself and her sister. Her purpose right now is clear. Her parents rush in behind her, fall to the girls' sides, and tend to them. Their daughters are taken care of. But the first glimpse of Jules that the older Ellie gets will stick with her forever - a dark-haired girl with blood-stained hands and chafed wrists screaming her voice raw at Splicer as she struggles to get to her sister. When Ellie stops to process that later, begins to sort through all of her feelings about this journey into the other world, it'll hit her so very hard. She'll wish with every ounce of her being that she'd known this fierce, protective girl, that she'd had that bond at her side growing /br /But her past is a fixed course and she is happy with her life in spite of what it might have /br /There's little challenge to be found in fighting Splicer. He is skilled at hopping through time and universes as well as kidnapping and torturing children, but he's no match for her in combat. She'd not realized before how much his meta powers had progressed and she hadn't taken the steps necessary to keep him from escaping. Ellie isn't fool enough to make that mistake twice and when she bests him, which takes only minutes, she quickly cuffs him with temporal locks to prevent him from jumping yet /br /He laughs. Perhaps he truly is a madman, or maybe he just thinks Zoom will save him, she's never known. But regardless of his sanity, he's undeniably evil. She has no question about that as she watches her parents and Digg try to stop the bleeding from her other self's /br /Jules just looks empty, like everything has caught up with her, like she's spent every bit of herself and been left /br /"Oh… Extra Girl," Splicer says slowly. Ellie can hear the smile in his voice, the victory in it. "You see? You don't have a place here any more than I do."br /br /It takes Ellie a moment and a muted flinch from Jules to realizes that he's not talking to /br /"The only ones who don't belong here are us," Ellie corrects him, wrenching his arm behind him tightly enough that she nearly dislocates it. "And the only place you belong is locked away for the rest of your life. Take your last breath of freedom, Splicer. You'll never have fresh air again."br /br /He throws his head back and laughs, but she doesn't let that deter her at all. Ellie flips a switch on her suit, calling the temporal cuffs and their occupant right back to Star Labs in her own time, in her own universe. He disappears from right in front of her, just as he's meant to and Ellie sighs a tremendous breath of relief before looking back to her wounded /br /"This isn't enough," Felicity says, shaking her head. "Oh god, she needs a hospital, Oliver. Now. emRight /emnow. This is too much blood. This is… This is…"br /br /She's right. Ellie doesn't think her younger self is much worse off than she'd been, but she's definitely in danger and they need to move quickly. Digg shoots out the handcuffs, or at least the attachments to the grimy floor. Jules stands on her own, the chain heavy between her arms, but Oliver cradles his younger daughter to his chest, supporting her head like he did back when she was just an /br /"Ju's," the younger Ellie mutters, trying to reach for her sister. "Ju's…"br /br /"Don't try to talk, baby. We're here. We're getting you help. You're gonna be okay," Felicity swears as they all move back toward the door to get to the /br /"No, Ju's…" teenage Ellie says again, sounding distant as she fades back and forth along the edge of consciousness. "S'wrong. S'all wrong…"br /br /She passes out shortly after that, just as they all get into the car and Digg peels out of the parking space, speeding as fast as he dares on the way to the nearest /br /For obvious reasons, Oliver and Felicity both focus on their Ellie, trying to get her as stable as possible, but the other Ellie finds herself staring at the sister she's never known with a sinking feeling in her /br /She knows well the kind of mind games Splicer is prone to and she has little doubt as to what this girl has been through. What she doesn't know is how to help. But this girl is all of seventeen-years-old, just two years older than her own daughter, and by the time they reach the hospital, Ellie's certain that she needs to /br /The younger Ellie is met with a flurry of activity, doctors and nurses rushing to get her the help she so desperately needs to survive. Jules is taken to the room across from her sister, her manacles sawed off and a quick once-over done with her wrists cleaned before she's told a doctor will be with her /br /Ellie tells the staff she's family - a cousin - and she stays with Digg and Jules as her parents seem torn between both girls. Ultimately, they're both needed with Ellie. The wound might be the same, but she'd bled more than the original Ellie had and her life remains very much in danger for some /br /"Will's on his way," Digg tells Jules, who is barely better than catatonic, staring at the wall with no expression. "And Lyla's bringing Nate. He's okay."br /br /"Good," Jules replies /br /"Jules… is there anything I can do for you right now?" Digg asks. "Anything at all?"br /br /She turns and looks at him then with no more expression than before. To see this girl so empty, so broken, it hurts Ellie in a way she hadn't /br /"Can you get me out of here?" she /br /"Can't do that, kiddo," Digg tells her, brushing some hair behind her ear. "You know that."br /br /"I want Buster," she continues. There's the slightest spark of life in her eyes at that and it piques Ellie's /br /"A German Shepherd is a bit big to sneak in here, Jules," Digg points out. Jules sighs before going back to staring at the wall. "How about I talk to the nurses and see if they'll allow him in? Okay? I'll emtry/em." br /br /She nods, but it's such a small movement that if Ellie hadn't been looking for it specifically, she'd have missed it. Digg was too, it seems. "Okay," he says. "Okay, Jules. I'll talk to the nurses and be right back. You stay here with… with Ellie, you got me?"br /br /It's the first time Ellie really feels Jules' eyes on her and the sudden attention is thick, emintense/em, more weighty than she'd imagined. She's being surveyed and judged and she knows it, but she's not sure what exactly Jules sees. br /br /"I got you," Jules replies expressionlessly. Her eyes don't leave /br /"You'll be okay, kid," Digg tells Jules, kissing the top of her head. "You and your sister both. We were worried as hell about you, you know."br /br /"Sure," Jules agrees, but Ellie's almost positive she doesn't mean it. Digg is, too, she thinks because he sighs and a grim line pulls at his lips before he reminds her not to go anywhere and leaves in search of a /br /It's just them, then. Just Ellie and this scarred teenage sister she's never met. The air is heavy with a sense of expectation, it feels thick when she breathes it in, but Ellie isn't quite sure where to /br /In the end, Jules does it for /br /"You should've never come," she /br /Ellie jolts at that. "I had to," she says. "This was my fault. I had to save you and your sister."br /br /"I didn't mean this time," Jules clarifies, watching her with deadened /br /The breath that Ellie sucks in at that is wild and unrestrained because she knows exactly what Jules is saying. emI shouldn't exist. I should've never been born. The world doesn't need me/em. She hears it as loudly as if Ellie had said the words aloud and she knows exactly what wounds Splicer inflicted on her. br /br /But arguing that on its face will do no good. She doesn't need denials. She needs proof to the /br /"When I was four I made an imaginary friend," she says. Jules' face stays impassive, but as Ellie paces the room, she knows she has her attention anyhow. "I just called her sister. She never had a name, because I never knew yours."br /br /The barest expression of surprise flickers across the girl's face and Ellie takes that as a good /br /"I have spent 28 years wondering about you, Jules," Ellie tells her. "What you would look like, what you would embe /emlike, if we would be friends. I put Nate in dresses when he was a toddler because I wanted him to be a sister so badly…"br /br /Jules scoffs at that, a derisive little noise. "Ellie and I did that, too."br /br /"I know what kind of person the man who took you is," Ellie tells her, pinning her with her eyes. "I know what he must have said and all the ways he would have tried to hurt you. emDo not let him/em."br /br /Jules is very still at that, completely silent for a long moment as she holds Ellie's gaze. "The truth often hurts," she finally /br /"So do lies," Ellie tells her, her voice intentionally heavy and intense. A 'mom' voice, her mother would say. She can only hope it gets through to Jules as well as it does to Monique. "Especially if they play into your worst fears. You have always belonged here, Julianna. And if you think anyone in my family in my world hasn't thought about you… wondered what you were like… you're very wrong."br /br /For a moment, Jules is completely silent, picking at the hem of the cheap hospital gown the staff had given her. It frays easily, splits apart under her blood-stained, fractured nail. "You don't know me," she says finally, glancing up darkly through a curtain of matted dark hair. "And I most certainly do not know you. You did what you came here to do. You played the hero, the perfect daughter they lost before they got stuck with me instead. But you're emnot /emtheir daughter. You never were. So, why don't you go back to where you came from, Elizabeth. There's no place for you in this world."br /br /It's heartbreaking. Every word she says comes from a place of pain, of trauma. Ellie holds exactly none of it against her. She knows very well the coping mechanisms people craft to help themselves /br /"I know," she nods. It's not placating in the least. It's earnest and sober. If she's going to have this conversation with Jules, she's going to do it while treating the girl like an adult. "I have no intention of staying. This is your world, Jules. emYours /em. Not mine and not your Ellie's. This world is shaped by your influence. That's what makes it different, what makes it special. The sooner you realize that, the stronger and happier you'll be. I wish I could see that, that I could get to know you better. But even as horrible as today has been for all of us, I'm so very grateful to have finally met you. Even if it's just this once."br /br /Clearly, Jules doesn't know how she should respond to that. She doesn't know emif /emshe she should respond to that. She's so very wary, so intensely closed off as she scrutinizes Ellie. But, ultimately she's saved from responding at all by another sibling entirely. br /br /"emJules/em!" Nate's little voice is a full on sob as he pushes open the door and rushes full force to his sister. He's crying and babbling against her shoulder. Impassive though she is, Jules still brings one arm up around her brother to hold him in comfort as she stares at Ellie. br /br /emThis is my brother/em, her eyes are saying. emHe is not yours. You don't /br /Ellie doesn't take it personally. Her Nate is seventeen years older, harder and more wounded than this echo of him is. She hopes it stays that way. She loves her Nate. She does. But something changed in him after their kidnapping and she can't help but want some version of her brother somewhere to be less scarred, less wounded than her /br /"Thank you," he says, his cheek still pressed to Jules as he looks to Ellie. "Thank you for keeping your promise. Thank you for bringing my sisters back to me."br /br /And that, more than anything else - Nate's soft, innocent, heartfelt thanks - is a reminder that she truly does not belong here. This is not her family. Not emreally /em. Though… though at times, her foggy memories of this version of her parents surface in her mind and the feelings that come with them - even as an adult - make her wonder how they felt about her. How they still feel about her. Because in her mind, though it was so many years ago, they were very much her parents too. For a little while. br /br /"You're welcome, Nate," she smiles. "Take care of them. I have no doubt they love you very much."br /br /"You're leaving?" Nate asks, picking up on her tone. "You just got here."br /br /"I am," she agrees. "You have an Ellie already. And I do not belong here."br /br /"Be careful," Nate tells her, lines of worry furrowing his little brow. "Traveling across universes has to be dangerous and no matter whose Ellie you are, I don't want you to get hurt."br /br /Ellie grins at that and shakes her head at him. It's so very Nate, so core to her little brother's personality at any age, in any universe. She can't help the way it tugs at her heart. And she's so distracted by the boy that she misses the way Jules' face shifts slightly as she watches /br /"Thanks, I guess." The voice startles her and Ellie finds herself blinking back at Jules. "For saving us, I mean… For saving me."br /br /Oh, that look on Jules' face emhurts /em. She is breaking in a million little ways right now, shattering to bits as she tries to piece herself back together and Ellie hasn't a clue how to help /br /"Of course I saved you, Jules," she says, offering up a thin smile. "You're my sister."br /br /Jules can't hold her gaze at that, instead blinking hard and looking at the worn hem of her hospital gown again as she allows Nate to hug her. Ellie slips out of the room without a real goodbye to either of them. She expects to find Digg in the hall. And she does, but he's down a few doors chatting intensely with Lyla. What she doesn't expect is both of her parents standing in the doorway to Ellie's room, doing their best to keep an eye on both their wounded /br /"How is she?" Ellie asks. Both of her parents look at her like they're surprised to see her /br /"They'll need to watch her closely. She's lost a lot of blood. They're probably going to need more than what they have on hand," Oliver says, swallowing weakly as he rubs his thumb and forefinger together, a lifelong sign of the strain he /br /"I could donate some," Ellie offers. "We know it'd be a perfect match."br /br /"No," Felicity says, shaking her head. "It's too dangerous without knowing how the temporal shift effects you on a quantum level. I'll donate if they need more. We're the same blood type."br /br /"I know we are," Ellie replies. With the way her mother blinks at her, it seems like Felicity's seeing her for the first time, like she's really processing her presence in a way she hasn't since they stormed into that /br /The four-year-old girl that lives somewhere inside Ellie's memory thrills at the recognition, at the awareness of her mother looking back at her, and the look on Felicity's face is so gentle, so achingly loving and focused on her that Ellie thinks she could /br /"Look at you," Felicity says, shaking her head and putting a hand to Ellie's cheek. "I've missed you, Ellie-bug. And you've grown into such a beautiful, amazing woman."br /br /And, oh, emoh /emshe does feel like a little girl again at that. She blinks back tears and turns her face into her mother's palm. "Thank you," she manages. "I've missed you, too. It was confusing when I was four. I didn't know how to miss someone that was still standing right in front of me."br /br /"We know the feeling," her dad assures her, reaching out and holding her hand gently with his calloused /br /"I know," Ellie agrees. "I know you do."br /br /"Your life has not been easy, has it?" Felicity asks. "Between Zoom and his henchmen…"br /br /"I've learned to live with it," Ellie replies. "And my family is my rock. I have a good life. Maybe not an easy one, but a good one."br /br /"I'm glad," Felicity tells her. "I'm so glad you have that, that you have someone you love to come home to and children who fill your home with joy. I have always wanted that for you, for every you. You were my first baby, Ellie-bug, and I'll love you forever."br /br /Ellie does start crying at that, tears slipping down her cheeks to splash against her mother's palm. "I wish I had more time," she confesses. "I wish…"br /br /"You need to get back," Oliver smiles at her. It's gentle, understanding and not without longing. She and her father have always understood each other well and she knows he fully gets where she's at right /br /"I do," Ellie confirms. "I've already been gone hours longer than they thought I would be. My wife and kids and parents - emyou /em, really - have got to be terrified."br /br /"Thank you for saving our girls," her dad says. "If there's anything we can do for you, anything you need."br /br /The idea hits her immediately and she knows it will be meaningful to far more people than just her before she even makes the /br /"Actually," she says, pulling back slightly and licking her lips. "I was hoping you might have some photos of Jules with you. Something I could take a picture of to bring back. My parents don't talk about it much, but I know they wonder about her. And I… I'd like something of my sister to take with me."br /br /"Yeah," Oliver smiles. "Yeah, I can do that."br /br /His phone is out of his pocket in an instant and Ellie captures a dozen pictures of her almost-sister. It is, at best, bittersweet. Curiosity has been sated, but she still won't really know this girl, won't have the sister she's always wanted in her life. And she finds, as happy as she is with her life, there is no small measure of jealousy toward the younger version of herself lying palely in a bed just a room /br /"Thank you," Ellie nods. She doesn't look at her parents as she pulls them both into her arms and hugs them tightly. "Thank you for always being there for me."br /br /"Ellie-bug," Felicity chokes out, kissing her softly on the temple. "Honey, that's what parents do."br /br /Goodbyes are fast after that. It's too hard to linger and time, ironically, seems to be going by too quickly. Ellie leaves that world secure in the increasingly positive prognosis for her other self. It hurts to go. It was always going to. But the relief at returning home overpowers that pain /br /She steps back into the lair she left from, crossing time and space and barriers between universes, to a flurry of near-hysterical greeting. Everyone is there... her parents, her brothers, her children, her wife. It's almost absurd how many people try to hug her at /br /"I'm fine," she promises, kissing both of her kids as her mother gulps back a terrified sob and leans against her /br /"Ellie, what the hell happened? Splicer showed up in Star Labs almost half a day ago," Will says, his playful nature completely absent for the time being. Amelia holds onto his arm, his anchor as /br /"I'm sorry," Ellie says, looking between her brothers. Nate looks livid, ready to boil over. He has never dealt well with mentions of the kidnapping and she knows that will be no better now with Splicer identified and finally captured. She can't hold his gaze, so she looks to her wife. "He got away from me in the past, jumped universes to the one that split off from ours when I was little. I had to go stop him. It was my fault he was there in the first place."br /br /She scarcely catches the way her father freezes and her mother sucks in a breath at those words. "You were there?" her mom /br /"I was," Ellie confirms. "He grabbed the other me there along with her older sister… Jules. Julianna. But I saved them and caught him."br /br /"Jules," her mom echoes, testing out the name. Ellie can't help smiling at /br /"I have pictures," she says. "If you want to see them. I can tell you a little about her. In a bit, anyhow."br /br /There's a touch of hesitance as both of her parents look to each other, but Ellie already knows what their response will be. They won't be able to resist hearing about the daughter they never /br /"Did you see me there?"br /br /Ellie looks back to her wife at the question. "No," she says. "There wasn't time."br /br /"Well, I emam /emglad you weren't there longer," she acknowledges as she wraps her arms around Ellie's neck and presses their foreheads together with a tremendous sigh. It's like all of the strain is bleeding right out of her with the breath. "Does that version of you love that version of me, too? Did you at least find that out?" she asks. br /br /Ellie laughs, a soft airy thing that seems impossibly light. "Of course she does," Ellie confirms, pulling her wife close and savoring the heat of her body pressing against her own. "I can't even imagine a world where I didn't love you, Sara."/p  
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	48. September 3rd, 2017

It's nearly three in the morning when Oliver wakes up. It happens in stages, like it has every single night of the last two weeks, with him slipping from dreams that still hold a tinge of fear to a world covered in midnight. He hears the tree branches scratching at the window, the slight creaks and groans of the brownstone settling, and his own barely-audible breathing.

Oliver doesn't have to open his eyes to know that he's alone.

A burning ache resonates in his chest and he turns on his side to face the empty bed.

He reaches a hand out, smoothing it over the untouched sheets. She told him to make it a habit to sleep in the middle of the bed, which supposedly helps with the fact that he's currently missing his other half. He tries, but every single morning he still wakes in the middle of the night on his side, his arms reaching for her.

It's only been two weeks, but it feels longer. Like an eternity… an eternity of his wife being halfway across the world and a new syndicate based in California setting up a base in Starling City with a new gun running scheme, of Jules being sick with a fever that he could not control no matter what he did and hearing from Roy that Thea's recent treatments had hurt more than helped, that her absence has been because she can barely stand, much less interact with anyone…

These past few weeks have been a trial on every level and the mostly-healed knife wound in his back hasn't made a damn thing easier.

He's _tired_. He wants the world to pause, just for five seconds, so he can take a breath without worrying that he's paying too much attention to one issue while another one literally burns to the ground. He and Felicity talk every day, but nothing can replace the comfort that comes with having his wife at his side.

He misses her with a fierceness that takes his breath away.

And nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , is helped by the fact that today is the one day where things were supposed to be calm, if just because they damn well deserve it. But that hasn't happened. Right now, Felicity's in Russia handling a merger that had been going sideways while he's here in Starling, enduring the longest two weeks of his life. Which is _saying something._

He barely sleeps for more than an hour at a time, mostly because he can't sleep alone anymore, but also because he's drowning himself in worry about her being so far away - in _Russia_ , no less - and the new gang infiltrating his city and Jules being sick enough that he'd thought about taking her to the ER a hundred different times before her fever finally broke. Reprieves are few and far between - usually linked to Jules' smiles or when Will comes over or when he hears Felicity's laugh over the phone. It's selfish to want Felicity back for his own reasons, and he knows that. Her place at the helm of Queen Consolidated - _sorry_ … Queen Incorporated, now - is new and the company needs her firmly, decisively in command.

 _But I need her, too_.

And he knows she's not handling the distance very well, either. He can see it in her face when they talk, about Jules and what's happening in Starling - even if he tries to divert the conversation - and he can see her frustration that her trip keeps getting extended.

Until today, that is.

Warmth replaces the ache and he lets himself smile, even if it's a ghostly hint of one.

She'll have to go back, yes, but she's flying home today.

Because today is the day they conceive Ellie.

" _Not to put any pressure on us or anything, jeez."_

Felicity's voice rings in his ears and he snorts. He will never forget the first few days after Ellie had gone back to her time. The pure desperation on Felicity's face, the way her voice shook as she made him promise that no matter what was happening or where they were - physically and emotionally - that they would come together on September third of 2017 to ensure the conception of their daughter.

He's so damned glad that their years together have given Felicity the solidity that she clearly craved so much at that time. Gone is the uncertainty and worry about their place in each other's lives. It's been replaced with a whole new kind of concern: _"I better be awake enough to ravage you all day."_

Oliver laughs under his breath, still feeling her smiling lips against his when he'd dropped her off at the airport two weeks ago. Her soft, _"I'll be back,"_ had whispered over him and he'd carried those words with him every single day, holding onto them, knowing that she would come home to him.

Where the last two weeks he'd woken in the middle of the night from worry about Jules or from a nightmare or from an urgent alert from Felicity's systems, now he's sure the reason he's up is because he gets to see his wife in a few hours.

God, he can't _wait._

Oliver pulls her pillow into his arms and buries his face in it, inhaling deeply. He can still smell hints of her shampoo from nights she goes to bed with wet hair, and her perfume, and just Felicity. The ache comes back with an alacrity that makes him groan, but it's tempered by the knowledge that in a few hours he'll be able to hold her in his arms, be able to reacquaint himself with her scent and warmth and _love_.

He tries to fall back asleep with her pillow cradled in his arms, but it's useless. He's awake. He thinks about calling Felicity on the jet, but he doesn't want to wake her if she's asleep. He supposes he can get started on some laundry and at least start cleaning up behind the tornado that is Julianna Queen now that she's coming out of her haze of sickness.

The reminder that his daughter is feeling better makes Oliver smile as he climbs out of bed.

He shrugs on a t-shirt and sweats and heads downstairs to check on Jules. As he quietly descends the stairs - careful to avoid the fourth step that squeaks now - he thinks about what else he can get done.

Lyla is supposed to be picking Jules up in a few hours so he and Felicity can spend the day together, and then they're going to get her barring any complications from the real world, and then spend the night together before she gets ready to go back to goddamn Russia… It just had to be Russia, didn't it? He's not sure if that's ironic or just a sick twist of the fates, but the idea of his wife in that country without him will always make his insides twist. Maybe he could go with her on the second leg of her trip. Oh, his mother would love that. She's been letting him juggle as much as he can from home these last few weeks, but her newly-minted chief of staff being in Russia for an extended period of time? He can see her look now. His next thought is about what to make for dinner and then how early they can get Jules down so they can spend a little extra time together…

Jules' bedroom door is open.

Oliver freezes, the hair on the back of his neck rising as all his senses shift into high gear. She's climbed out of bed a dozen times already, but she hasn't been able to reach the door. Not yet, anyway. She's not tall enough, but that hasn't stopped him from being extra cautious with gates at every level… The gate going upstairs is wide open. He hadn't locked it behind him. _Shit_. But he hadn't heard anything - no thud, no cry of pain, not even her inquiring, "Da?" He would have heard any and every sound if she'd gotten out of her room, which meant…

The chances of anyone getting into the house are slim - especially without him knowing - but it's not impossible. It's quiet, nothing out of place that he can tell, but his instincts still take over as he makes his way swiftly into her room. A thousand possibilities rocket through his head - someone followed him, someone is after the Queen name, something happened to Felicity and now they're here for Jules…

Experience has him expecting the worse and bile claws its way up his throat as he rushes down the rest of the stairs.

But then he sees the purse dropped haphazardly on the ground by the door.

His heart stops for an entirely different reason. Elation and surprise rocket through him and the swing between emotions has his head spinning as he enters the room.

Oliver doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he sees his girls.

The only illumination in the room comes from Jules' nightlight on the opposite wall. It casts the perfect glow across Felicity and Jules where they sit in the rocking chair, both of them gone to the world.

He wants to bound over and sweep them both up into his arms, but he grabs the doorjamb instead, taking a moment to drink in the sight.

It's obvious by the way Felicity is slouched that she's been here for a while. His heart stops at the thought of her being here without him knowing it, of her flying back early, of her being here at all. Even in her sleep Felicity has a solid grasp on Jules where the toddler sleeps on top of her. Her head is pillowed on Felicity's breast, her dark hair a shocking contrast to her mother's white cami and pale skin. Jules' bow-shaped mouth is gaped like it only is when she's in a deep sleep, a large puddle of drool darkening the fabric of Felicity's top under her pudgy cheek. He knows firsthand how heavy his little girl is when she's fast asleep, which tells Oliver exactly how tired his wife is.

They're so beautiful and perfect his chest aches.

His family is together again.

Oliver can't stand the distance anymore.

The second he reaches them, he smooths his hand over Jules' head before leaning over to press a lingering kiss to the top of Felicity's head. She's warm and soft and _home_. He breathes her in, and he's so overwhelmed for a split second that tears burn his eyes. He shakes his head at himself - the power of the love he has for his life now will never not amaze him - and kisses the crown of her head again, brushing his fingers through Jules' soft locks.

Neither of them budge.

Huffing out a small chuckle, Oliver stands to evaluate the situation before sneaking his hands underneath the sleeping toddler.

"C'mere, baby girl," he whispers as he picks her up. Jules doesn't mind in the least, absolute dead weight in his grasp, her head lolling without a care in the world, but her mother? Felicity immediately tightens her hold on her daughter and stirs, her brow furrowing. "It's just me," Oliver says, kissing her forehead. "I'm putting her back to bed."

Felicity relaxes, giving him a mumbled, "Mm'kay," before relinquishing her hold.

Oliver hauls the two-and-a-half year old up, ignoring the slight twinge in his healing wound, cradling her close. He straightens her shirt and rubs his hand up and down her spine, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. She's a limp noodle, never waking, perfectly content, perfectly safe. That makes Oliver smile as he settles her back in her bed. He rearranges her so he can pull her comforter over her and then grabs her elephant, tucking it in with her. He pauses, gazing down at her, taking those few seconds to revel. He brushes his fingers through her hair with a quiet, "I love you to the sun and back, Julie-bug."

With the satisfying knowledge that his child is warm and safe in her bed, he turns back to his wife.

She's fallen back asleep.

He can see the circles under her eyes from her own lack of sleep, tell from the creased lines on her face that she'd caught a few hours of rest on the plane back, but it clearly hadn't made a dent in her exhaustion.

"Felicity." Oliver rubs her shoulder, pushing his hand over her tense muscles to cup the back of her neck. She moans, sinking into his touch and his thumb brushes over her pulse point as he whispers, "Hey." She grunts, but she doesn't wake. He smiles at the way her face crinkles before moving to pick her up. "Your turn, honey."

"Wha'?"

Oliver picks her up, gritting his teeth as the movement pulls on his wound. It's nothing near what it was, but it still has a rush of pained heat skating over his back. Compared to having his wife in his arms, though, it's nothing. He readjusts her, cuddling her closer, nuzzling her temple with his nose and lips. The two week span had been horrible when he didn't have her, but now that he does, it feels like it's been even longer than a handful of days.

"I missed you so much," he breathes, sighing deeply.

Felicity smiles, her fingers scraping over his chest. She makes a tight fist in his shirt, winding her other arm around his shoulders, nuzzling him back. She kisses the underside of his jaw and he angles his face down to capture her lips

It's soft and perfect and _everything_.

Just like her.

"I missed you," she replies against his lips, and the weight in her voice tells him how much she means it.

Her love wraps around him just as securely, encompassing him in all its warmth. For the first time in weeks he takes a deep breath and his lungs fully expand, the oxygen properly suffusing his body with energy and life.

Oliver heads to their room, pausing long enough to let Felicity pull Jules' door shut behind him. At the base of the steps he kicks the gate shut - _just in case_ \- and heads up with his wife securely in his arms.

"You're early," he comments. "I thought I was picking you up around nine."

"I wanted to surprise you." Felicity lays her head on his shoulder, her fingers dragging over his neck. His heart flutters and he holds her closer as he reaches their floor. "I wanted to check on Jules, first, see how she was doing. She was wide awake, staring at the lights on her ceiling." She waves her hand, her voice fading with her sleepiness. "You know when the moon comes through the trees and it's windy. She loves that. I didn't plan on falling asleep."

Oliver nods as he reaches their room. He moves to the bed, but she straightens, shaking her head.

"No, I want to take a shower first."

"Honey, it's three in the morning," he says, kissing her temple. Stray hairs from her ponytail tickle his nose. "You can take one in a few hours."

But she keeps shaking her head. "I smell like travel."

Oliver smiles. "What does travel smell like?" he asks, turning to the bathroom despite his inner protestations. He wants to hold her forever, but his back is starting to hurt and it's either the bed or the bathroom counter. He's not about to argue with her about this right now, so he does what she says. _Just a quick one_.

"Like I've been sitting in a box of shipping peanuts for ten hours."

He chuckles, setting her on the counter. He turns the light on and she blinks adorably. Her eyes slip shut despite herself - _she's so tired_ \- and he cups her face. She opens her legs for him, grabbing his waist to pull him closer. She leans into him, knowing he'll be there to catch her, to carry her weight, no matter what. The blind trust she gives him will always be staggering. She trusts him with something as simple as not letting her fall off the bathroom counter and she trusts him with her heart, her soul, with an entire lifetime of happiness.

Oliver kisses her, smiling when she sighs, leaning into his lips and the palms of his hands. He nibbles at her lips, earning a little moan from her.

"You're not too tired?" he asks, smoothing his hands over her hair.

"I am," she admits. "I shouldn't be because I'm usually wide awake right now, but I tried to sleep so I could be awake to surprise you and then I tried sleeping on the jet but I can never sleep when I'm coming home, and… and I just really want a shower." Felicity pulls back to look at him. She makes tight fists in his shirt, urging him further between her legs. "Join me?"

Her voice is husky and even though he knows it's because she's so thoroughly exhausted, it still has his body tightening in response. The question is quiet, leaving room for him to say no, although they both know he won't.

"Always," he whispers, kissing her again.

This time she opens for him, her tongue tasting his lips. He groans, sliding his fingers into her hair, angling her head so he can suck her bottom lip into his mouth. God, he's _starved_ for her. She tastes like absolution, like heaven, like _home_. Oliver sinks into her embrace, drinking from her lips, delighting in their moans, a mixture of happy and the always present need that simmers just below the surface. If it wasn't three in the morning and if they weren't both so tired that they could drop, he'd be ripping off her clothes and burying himselves between her thighs.

But they _are_ tired and it _is_ three in the morning and as much as he really wants to make love to his wife _right now_ , they just don't have the energy.

Oliver pulls back, but not before taking a few more lingering kisses. He kisses her nose, her forehead, her brows and then her cheeks, light as feathers, raining his love and gratitude on her, trying to imprint into her skin how much he missed her. Her eyes flutter shut, and she leans into every single one, her hands slipping up under his shirt, fingers brushing over his burn scar with a reverence he feels in his bones.

Even after all this time her touch is a balm, reminding him that his past is what helped shape him, but it's not what defines him. The way he lives is, though. The way he _chooses_ to live, with her, with their children.

 _With love_.

And it's that love that's going to create a new addition to their lives. It's funny that all he's been able to think about lately is how hectic things are, but he'd have it no other way, because it's easy when she's by his side.

It's worth it.

He finally turns on the shower, and as the water heats up, he helps her undress.

Oliver removes her glasses as she toes off her heels. She pulls her ponytail out as Oliver grabs the hem of her camisole, tugging it over her head. Her eyes drift shut every few seconds and she sways, but there's a smile on her face that tells him there's no other place she'd rather be. That, yes, their lives are turning out to be a constant parade of fires they have to put out, but that it's worth it.

It's _so_ worth it.

As Felicity reaches back to unhook her bra, Oliver's fingers find her chin, tipping her face up to his. Her smile widens, fully expecting a kiss, but not yet. He just stares at her, drinking her in. Steam fills the bathroom, some of it billowing out the open door, but it's nothing compared to the steady warmth flowing between them.

Her smiles turns coquettish and she winds her legs loosely around his, locking him in her embrace as she reaches up to tap his cheek. "Don't waste that look," she says. "There's a lot of baby making to be done today, so save it for later. I hope that sounded as sexy as it did in my head, but I'm too tired to be sure."

Oliver laughs, turning to kiss her fingers before kissing her lips. "It was very sexy," he assures her. "Trust me, I never thought the words 'baby making' could be so incredibly damn sexy."

Felicity snorts, but he doesn't miss the shiver that falls down her spine.

He's not the only one.

With a smirk, he kisses his way down her cheek to her ear. He kisses the shell before sucking the lobe between his lips. Even her exhaustion can't hide the way she responds to him, the way her nails dig into his back, her thighs tightening around him, her nipples hardening through her bra.

"Felicity," he says, his voice low, almost Arrow levels of low, something he knows very well how much she likes. She gives him a whiny breath in response. Oliver scratches his stubble over her cheek, moving just enough so his chin passes over her earlobe before he presses his lips to her ear and whispers, "Let's make a baby."

Her reaction is instantaneous.

She shudders and with a moan of his name grabs his face, pulling his lips to hers. The kiss is electric, all heady passion and need, love and happiness bursting in it. She tilts his head to deepen the kiss and he follows her lead without hesitation, groaning when she lifts her legs to pull him closer to her, when his growing hardness presses to her center.

They'd been planning for this day for _years_. Literal, actual years since the second his future self had told them which day they needed to make sure they had sex on, come hell or high water. This day, September 3, 2017, had been a topic of conversation a hundred times over. Whether it was concrete plans - "I'll stop my birth control a few months ahead, which means we're going to need condoms for a while. Lots and lots of condoms" - to contingency plans - "I don't care if the city is on fire, we'll find a room that is fireproof for at least a quickie, Oliver" - and much more sexy plans - "We could do a romantic picnic in the living room, and yes, I said living room, because licking chocolate sauce off my wife's naked body isn't appropriate at the park" - to romantic plans at an actual restaurant that included "candles and Italian and my foot sneaking up your pant leg."

Of course, nothing goes to plan. Ever. But Oliver's learned that's where they thrive. When things are at their worst and falling apart around them, they're at their strongest.

So today is going to be everything that they planned and everything that they didn't plan…

Which is a thought that Oliver's pretty sure makes sense in some capacity, but suddenly Felicity's tongue is in his mouth and he forgets how to think.

The kiss escalates quickly, ramping up until they're both panting and clinging to each other.

Oliver laughs against her lips. "The only thing stopped me from ripping your pants off right now is that the water heater is starting to act up." Felicity gives him a puzzled moan, kissing him again before he replies, "If we want a hot shower, we need to get in."

Felicity pauses and then pulls back. She gives him a little pout and Oliver has to capture her bottom lip between one more time. "Stupid water heater," his wife mumbles, finally pulling her bra off. Oliver unabashedly stares at her naked breasts and he just can't help himself. He palms them, squeezing them. Her words falter, her breath hitching when he presses them together before swooping down to capture one nipple between his lips. Her hand cups the back of his head as he sucks the bud into his mouth, his tongue darting over it. "Stupid travel…" she manages, her voice breaking. "Stupid dirty travel."

He chuckles, standing up to kiss her lips. "Let's get you clean then."

Felicity hops off the counter, undoing her pants, wiggling her hips to get them down, drawing his eyes like a moth to the flame. She pulls his shirt off and he pushes his sweats down as she gets rid of her panties. She brushes her hair quickly, pulling on a few tangles and he grab a the baby monitor from the bedroom. He places it on the counter and checks the water temperature. It's holding steady. He adjusts it so it's perfect.

His wife winds her arms around him from behind, pressing her face into his back.

"C'mon," he says, lacing their fingers together and pulling her into the shower with him.

It's all about her.

Felicity tries to argue, urging him to do his own ablutions, but he'd already grabbed a quick one when Jules finally fell asleep. When he tells her to relax, rubbing his hands over her shoulders and down her arms before going back up, his lips light on hers, she finally nods, giving herself over to him.

It's as much about helping her get clean as it is welcoming her home.

Oliver takes his time.

The heat from the water has a lulling effect and about twenty seconds in she just closes her eyes, letting him do everything. He washes her hair, careful to keep shampoo out of her eyes. She moans as he rinses it out, her hands finding his waist for something to hold onto. Her nipples are still pebbled and his growing erection threatens to get in the way, but he doesn't let it. He wrings her hair out before adding conditioner. He has the routine down pat, as much for sexy reasons as for when he'd helped her shower the few times he found her crying in the tub during the tumultuous months after Jules' birth. He knows exactly what she likes and it's only when the conditioner is in and he's got her body wash in hand that he lets himself indulge in a little more.

Felicity is limp in his arms, leaning against him, what sound like happy little purrs slipping from her throat. He smiles, leaning over to nuzzle her throats and kiss her collarbone before turning her around so her back is to his chest.

He starts with her shoulders and neck, massaging as he goes, slipping his fingers up the base of her skull to the delicate space behind her ears before moving down. He doesn't miss a single spot, doing her back first, running his fingers down her spine and back up. His thumb lovingly drifts over the scar on her shoulder. It's habit now, paying special attention to that one spot, as well as feeling the familiar swell of gratitude that there aren't more scars.

He does her arms, hands, her sides, avoiding her chest and abdomen and the apex of her thighs for the moment. He kneels down behind her, and it's easy to ignore the dull ache in his knees with her under his hands. She melts, leaning against the wall as he works his way down her backside. He takes extra care with her ass, enough that she starts giggling, which makes him chuckle.

"Oliver," she breathes, her voice dragging as she reaches back to drag her fingers over his shoulders and then through his hair. "You don't have to do this. It's so late…"

"I want to," he replies, turning her around so he can wash her front.

Water sluices over her, washing away the soap from her back as she looks down at him where he kneels before her. Her fingers brush down the sides of his face and he turns to kiss her wedding rings, running soapy hands up her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. With every brush of his skin against hers, her lids grow heavier with a need he'll never tire of seeing directed his way. A dark pink flush covers her chest, coloring her skin beautifully. His hands move of their own volition, up to her breasts. They're heavy, and they fit into his palm perfectly. Felicity mewls, her head rolling back, arching into his touch. The water washes the soap away as he works his way down her stomach, the rounded planes heavenly under his fingers.

He stops right at the top of her mound. Her eyes darken, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Oliver slips his hands behind her to cup her ass. Her mouth parts in a pant as the water rinses his hands and he slowly turns her so her back is to the wall.

Felicity falls against it with a dull thud, using him as an anchor to stay standing. He takes every bit of weight she gives him, sliding his hands down her thighs.

He picks up her leg and rests her thigh on his shoulder, spreading her open for him. He catches a hint of her musky arousal and he licks his lips, aching to taste her.

"The water heater," she croaks, not making a move to stop him. It's the last thing he expects her to say, but in a strange way it's also perfect.

"I'll be quick," he promises.

Felicity shudders, digging her nails into his scalp, her hips rocking forward.

Oliver's gaze stays locked on her as his fingers spread her nether lips open for him, as he leans forward, instinct guiding him. His nose brushes over her clit and his tongue licks a stripe right up the center, brushing over her entrance where she's already wet for him and up to the little bundle of nerves.

Even if the water heater was working just fine, he doesn't have the patience to take his time. The second he tastes her he's lost, burying his face between her legs with a groan. She makes tight fists in his hair, her back arching off the wall as he eats her out with an eagerness that is both soft and harsh at the same time. He wants to feel her flying apart at the seams, wants to hear her gorgeous cries, taste her juices as she comes, feel her body trembling with pleasure.

He licks and sucks, teasing her clit to the point of frustration. They'd had a few intimate phone calls the last two weeks when they caught each other at the right time, but that's nothing compared to having her in his arms again, his tongue buried between her folds, her ragged breathing filling the bathroom.

Felicity rocks against his face and he slips his hand between her legs, pressing two fingers into her wet channel.

"Ooh…!" she gasps. Her silken walls suck him in deep and he curls them with a needy moan all his own, wanting to feel them clamp down around him. Her legs are quaking around him all too soon and he thinks about throwing both her legs over his shoulders, but he doesn't trust his back quite yet. That only means he needs to be quick about this, to push her over the edge faster. He thrusts his fingers into her, fast and hard… "More," Felicity whimpers. "Inside me. Oliver…"

God, the thought of surging up to his feet and picking her up, slamming her against the wall as he buries himself deep inside her… His cock jerks, swelling with need.

But not in here.

Oliver pushes a third finger inside her. She cries out so loudly her voice echoes off the walls. He wraps his lips around her clit, flattening his tongue against it, giving her a place to ride him as he thrusts into her. Her hands tighten in his hair, pulling on the strands so hard it hurts. He feels her orgasm fast approaching, but judging by the way she shakes above him she isn't quite…

Before he can remedy it, she does it herself.

Felicity grabs the back of his head with one hand and digs her heel into his back for leverage as her other hand finds her breast. It's stunning and so goddamn sexy that he growls against her, pushing his fingers in as deep as he can. The vibrations in combination with his fingers pushing in and out of her radiates through her sex and it's the final edge she needs. She pinches and kneads her nipple, cupping her full breast, and Oliver watches the little bud redden, standing tall under her ministrations. Her clit swells under his tongue and he _sucks_ …

She comes with a wild shout, her entire body jerking as her orgasm rips through her. Her juices coat his chin, mixing in with the cooling shower water as her hips rock against him, riding her pleasure out.

But she only has so much energy.

Oliver pulls his fingers out and quickly stands, never letting her go. His damn knees bark at him, but it's easy to ignore when the pleasantly limp form of his wife falls against his chest.

"That was wow," she mumbles, the words muffled, and he grins, kissing her temple.

He turns her with a low, "That was just the beginning," before he urges her to stand on her own just enough for him to rinse the conditioner out of her hair.

Oliver can't look away from her. He doesn't want to. Felicity's eyes are closed, a look of perfect serenity on her features as he runs his fingers through her long strands. He knows dull pleasure is humming through her system, lulling her even closer to sleep, but a lot of that serenity is that she's back home.

With him.

It satisfies him in a way that's indescribable.

They rinse off together and get out, drying off. Oliver expects her to wave him out so she can finish her routine, but she doesn't. Instead Felicity grabs the baby monitor and shuts the bathroom light off before pulling him into the bedroom. She drops her towel on the ground and tugs his off where he'd tied around his waist and steps back, taking him with her, until her knees hit their bed.

"C'mere," she whispers, sitting down, never letting him go, urging him to follow her.

His heart climbs up his throat and entire body tightens in anticipation as he goes where she does, his eyes drinking in the way her body moves as she scoots to the center of the bed. Every move she makes is a wanton signal that hits him right in his center, from the way her legs brush together to how her breasts sway.

"Felicity…"

"Make love to me," she breathes, pulling on him until he's hovering over her. She spreads her legs, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her wet hair spills over the mussed sheets, the fading moonlight catching the varied hues. She looks positively ethereal where she stares up at him and Oliver doesn't hesitate, blanketing her body with his. He settles between her thighs, both of them sighing when he brushes against her wetness. Felicity hikes her legs up higher, wrapping one around his hips, her other foot resting in the crook of his knee, spreading herself even more. She's so soft and warm from the shower, skin still damp. She brushes her fingers through his hair, cupping his cheeks, her nails scraping over his ears. "Make love to me, Oliver."

The whispered plea is impossible to ignore.

Oliver's mouth slants over hers. The kiss is wet and messy, and perfect. She's trembling, or maybe he is, he's not sure. He kisses her lips, then her cheek and jaw, her throat, his mouth finding her ear before he buries his face against her neck. He pulls back his hips…

"Yes," Felicity whimpers, pressing her face into his hair. Her breath is hot as she gasps his name just as his erection finds her entrance. " _Oliver_."

He thrusts home.

The moan she makes as he fills her is the most erotic thing Oliver's ever heard. He loves that sound, loves how she reacts to his length coming inside her, especially when so much time has separated them. Oliver moans, losing all sense of time and place, of everything but her. Her inner walls pull him in deeper, deeper, until he's fully seated inside her. God, it's perfect.

It's _home_.

Ecstasy fills him and with a whispered, "Felicity," Oliver pulls out and thrusts back in. Felicity shudders, just as lost in him as he is in her. They move together, falling under the tidal wave of sensation and emotion crashing together inside them. Her hands are uncoordinated as she pulls his face to hers, her lips brushing over his stubbled cheek before finding his mouth again.

Oliver moans, and she deepens the kiss.

 _More, more, more._

He needs to be closer, so much closer.

Oliver pulls a leg up, pinning her to the bed as he pushes his arms underneath her, wrapping her up in his embrace. He cradles her to his chest, drinking from her lips, warmth and love suffusing every inch of him as he makes love to his wife. There's more to be accomplished here - like the conception of their future daughter - but all he can focus on is that Felicity is home.

Her name is a litany on his lips as they wrap themselves around each other, locking together.

 _A mortal lock_.

It doesn't matter how much time has passed or what's happened, they always have each other, always know that they can and will find their center in the arms of their love.

They slowly rock together, their pleasure building, soft cries filling the room.

It isn't long before Oliver feels the telltale tingling at the base of his spine. He tries to stave it off, wanting this to last - _forever_ \- but exhaustion and distance have pushed him too close to the damn edge. He releases her lips with a whimpered, " _Felicity_ ," pressing his forehead to hers. She feels so good underneath him, so damn good. White hot pressure starts to coil in his core, pleasure flooding his veins, making him grit his teeth. He digs his fingers into her, trying to push it back, but… "Oh god, Felicity, I can't… Are you…?"

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around him, dropping soft kisses across his face with a silent, _'It's okay,'_ but he isn't deterred.

"I want to feel you," he says in a frenzied whisper, moving faster. "I want to feel you come, Felicity." Oliver pushes one hand down her back to cup her ass and he pushes up as he changes the angles of his thrusts so he's rubbing right against her clit. Felicity's fingers spasm, her thighs tightening, her mouth falling open with a soundless cry as she jerks against him. "Please," he begs, squeezing his eyes shut, concentrating on her. "Please…"

A torrent of uneven cries fall from Felicity as the changed angle suddenly pushes her own pleasure to the brink. It amplifies his as the ridge of his erection hits her in a whole new way.

Oliver's moans are broken as he whispers, "Please, please, please…"

"I'm… yes… There, there…!" Felicity cries, suddenly arching into him, meeting his thrusts. She digs her nails into him and he cries out, his pleasure spiking, burning hotter. "Oh… oh _god_ …"

His name falls from her lips in stilted gasps for air as they move together, his pelvic bone rubbing her clit, pushing her higher as his own crisis grows at an alarming rate. Her body tightens, her thighs shaking, her toes curling against him. White noise fills his head as his own pleasure peaks, and he thrusts faster, barely cognizant of the noises he's making as he focuses on her, only her… only ever her…

Felicity suddenly grabs him so tight it hurts, shouting, "Oh, oh, _oh_!" and then she explodes around him, coming with a violent jerk in his arms. Her inner walls clamp down around him _hard_ and Oliver loses all sense of rhythm, thrusting into her with abandon.

Pleasure rockets through him with enough force to make the soles of his feet tingle. Oliver comes with a series of gasps and moans that echo through the room as he falls against his wife, every single nerve in his body firing as he spills into her. He keeps thrusting, riding the pleasure out, filling her with everything he has, and she welcomes every single bit of it, holding him tight when he finally stills.

It's… _everything_.

 _She's_ everything and he never wants to move again.

Oliver's not sure how long they lay there. His arms start to tingle, falling asleep under their combined weight, and he slowly pulls his arms out from underneath her, but he doesn't climb off of her, not yet. Her breaths slow, the little puffs brushing over his lips. Her heart still pounds, radiating into his chest, and he savors it. He cups her head, pushing his fingers into her wet hair. Felicity whispers his name, words of love on her tongue, and when she kisses him, he can taste them, feel them filling him.

They stay connected as long as they can, moving, wrapping around each other tighter… until the pull for sleep becomes too much.

Oliver kisses her forehead, dragging his lips down the bridge of her nose to her lips. When they touch, he finally pulls out of her.

They readjust just enough to pull the comforter over them. They don't speak as they wrap around each other, Oliver pulling her in as close as he possibly can, pressing his face to her hair, inhaling deeply. There's plenty to talk about, so much they need to catch up on and tell each other, things that phone calls can't cover, but that's for later. Right now it's just them, and it's all they need.

Exhaustion takes over and for the first time in weeks, they both sleep soundly.

Until the day simply refuses to be ignored.

Oliver's alarm goes off three hours later.

He turns it off four times until the doorbell ringing rouses his wife. He mumbles something about Lyla, reminding Felicity of the plan, and she gets up, grabbing the first thing she can find to cover herself up long enough to hand her daughter over to her godmother. Lyla wears a knowing smirk when she sees Felicity's disheveled state and she makes a dry comment about her coming home early. With a kiss to Jules' forehead and a comment about her getting a far better breakfast with Uncle Diggle and Sara, Felicity watches Lyla drive off, smiling when Jules waves at her before the car disappears.

She's more awake when she goes back upstairs. When she reaches their room, she pauses, taking a moment to drink in the sight before her.

Oliver is fast asleep, having only moved enough to turn the alarm off. His hair is askew, and there are red marks and scratches on him she doesn't remember making a few hours ago. Felicity could sleep for another twelve hours, and had it been any other day, she would have crawled right back into that bed and slept the child-free day away with her husband.

But it's not any other day.

The urgency she expected to have when September third finally hit isn't there as she makes her way back to her husband. Maybe it's because she's tired, or there's more than enough going on to worry about, or…

Or maybe it's because she knows that today was going to happen exactly how it should.

Felicity crawls under the comforter, snuggling against her husband's chest. Oliver instinctively cuddles her closer. He smells good, and he feels even better.

The touches start innocently - her fingers brushing over the scars on his back, her lips kissing over his Bratva tattoo, her foot dragging up his leg, smiling when she feels his cock hardening against under her ministrations. She places a soft kiss over his heart, another, and another… And then her hands join in and she gently urges him onto his back, pushing the comforter out of the way as she licks her way down his body, pausing only to drag her teeth of his nipple and enjoy the sharp lines at his pelvis before she takes him into her mouth.

She slowly wakes his lower half, sucking and licking, dragging her tongue up his length until it's trembling, until his cock jerks against her lips, a salty bead of precum on her tongue. She takes him into her mouth and bobs up and down, cupping his balls, dragging her nails over his sensitive skin. She wants to stay right there, wants to taste him. It's been too damn long since he's come in her mouth, but they have a different mission in the works for the day.

That makes Felicity chuckle - _orgasm missions_ \- and the vibrations make him moan.

Oliver wakes on the cusp of orgasm.

He has just enough state of mind to pull the blanket back the rest of the way and catch her eye before she releases his glistening cock with a loud pop. He's completely at her mercy as she crawls up his body and reaches between them, grasping him tightly before sinking down on him. Her head falls back with a moan. She's so wet and ready for him, but that does nothing to diminish the feel of him filling her so completely. She starts rocking her hips, riding him with ease, and Oliver cries out, his eyes squeezing shut, his head flying back at the sensation. Felicity's fingers finds her clit, wanting to come with him, but he's so close. His guard is deliciously down, letting her do whatever she wants with a sleepy trust that has her own pleasure spiking. His hands grasping her waist through his shirt, helpless moans falling from his throat as he gets closer and closer…

"Oh god, Felicity." His muscles tighten, his eyes shutting, his mouth going slack. "Ooh…!"

He comes with a low cry, one that instantly dissolves into desperate whimpers as he spills inside her. He watches through heavy lids as his wife throws her head back, a delicious moan slipping out at the sensation of him filling her. She spasms around him, pulling him in even deeper, milking him for all he has. Her nipples are hard where they poke through his t-shirt, her hair messy from late-night sex and their shower, beard burn decorating the long column of her neck.

It's a long moment before he falls still beneath her.

With a satisfied moan, Felicity falls back against her husband, but he's already moving. She barely has a chance to open her eyes and ask him what he's doing before he's pulling her down to his chest and spinning them so she's on the bottom, the move is so seamless that he doesn't fall out of her.

He's still half-asleep and his orgasm didn't help anything, but that doesn't stop him from bracing himself over her and pushing his hand between them to her sensitive clit. It's already primed, just waiting, and the second he touches it her hips jerk up. He meets her little thrust where he's still semi-hard inside her, rocking back and forth just enough to give her friction.

"Oh god," Felicity gasps, grabbing onto his shoulders, her head falling back. He rubs her hard and fast, just how she needs it, catapulting her right to the edge. It's so swift and powerful that she almost jerks away from his touch but he's got her pinned to the bed. All she can do is _feel_ and oh god, it's so much, sensation crashing into her in tidal waves that take her breath away. Pleasure burns in her core, a white hot heat that surges through her veins, focusing on her center. Her entire pelvis hums with it and her toes curl, her eyes squeezing shut as she loses herself in his thrusting hips and hard, demanding fingers. "Yes, yes… ohgodohgodohgod!"

White sheets over her eyes as she crumbles in his arms, making sounds she can't even comprehend as pleasure rockets through her. He doesn't stop, not yet, urging more from her, his own choked cries echoing hers as her silken walls clamp down on him where he's buried inside her.

When they can't take anymore they fall into a tangled heap. Oliver slips out of her but that's all the energy he has before he falls into the bed. His wet member presses into her hip where he lays half on top of her, his face smashed into her shoulder, and Felicity curls around him as much as she can, kissing his forehead.

In a sleepy voice, he whispers, "Did Lyla get Jules?"

"Mmhmm."

Oliver manages a nod and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, "Gonna make love to you," but then he's out again.

She smiles, hugs him close, and joins him.

They've only been asleep for a few hours when Felicity gets an emergency call from her assistant in Russia with yet another fire she needs to put out. Despite her obvious displeasure - he wants to protest, too, he really, _really_ does, but he doesn't, because he knows how important the company is to her and to their family, as much as he knows she won't stay longer than she has to - she climbs out of bed and heads to the newly rebuilt Queen Incorporated building downtown.

Oliver follows her an hour later with lunch.

A quick stop at the security desk with his patented Oliver Queen smile that is far more genuine these days gives him pause when he sees who's manning the desk.

Chris and a lush bouquet of flowers smiles back at him.

The flower service Felicity found doesn't bring anything on the weekends, especially since Felicity maintains that people don't need to work on their days off unless the world is ending. Eyeing the brightly blooming buds, the smile on Oliver's face becomes a little more forced. The guy's crush on his wife had been amusing at first, because who could blame him? She commands every room she walked into and it doesn't matter who you were, she always shares the natural light she carries inside her without hesitation.

It'd _been_ amusing, that is, up until Oliver noticed Chris starting to wear a light shade of stubble in the last few months.

 _Really?_

It's harmless, and Oliver knows it. He' done his own "background" check on the guy, something that goes far beyond what Felicity does with all her employees. His wife had huffed in outrage and slapped his chest hard enough to leave a mark when she found out he'd tailed Chris for, oh, a week or so.

 _Still._

Patchy beard aside, the fact that Chris had obviously bought flowers because he knew Felicity was due back in town today was a bit much.

Before heading upstairs Oliver makes a point to approach the desk with a forcefully light, "Hi, Chris," offering his hand. When the young man takes it, Oliver squeezes a tad too hard. His smile never falters even as Chris' face does with a choked, "Mr. Queen."

"Nice flowers," Oliver quips, and when Chris flushes, Oliver almost feels bad.

 _Almost._

Maybe it's that he's had to share his wife with this company way more than he'd planned, or that she's here at all on today of all days, or because he didn't get nearly enough sleep. Oliver mulls it over as he makes his way up to his wife's office, and he's at the point of feeling a tad guilty…

But then he sees what she's wearing.

Her shorts had not been _that_ short when he saw her off from home.

Oliver pauses in the doorway of her office. She's on speakerphone, painstakingly going through something or other about a thing that has something to do with… something. He's not exactly sure because she's braced on her elbows on the edge of her desk, her ass up in the air, hints of the round cheeks peeking out.

A low burn settles in the pit of his stomach at the sight.

To say the urgency between them was growing was an understatement. This morning had been about reacquainting himself with his wife after so many weeks apart, and when she'd woken him with her lips around his erection, well, that… That had just been amazing, beyond words, and the quick-burning passion had been fueled by exhaustion.

But now that they had gotten some sleep… that Felicity had had to come into the office on her day off - especially on _this_ day - well…

The urge to walk up and push her forward so he had her bent over her desk was almost too hard to ignore.

Oliver clenches the paper bag in his hand instead, alerting her to his presence. She glances over her shoulder and her face instantly brightens with a smile, the stress from the call she's on melting away for a split second. It's that gorgeous grin that has his attention diverting, his own smile on his lips.

That he can bring her that quick second of relief means everything and he relaxes…

But then he remembers the flowers and that kid's attempt at stubble.

Oliver's closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.

Felicity ends the call and turns to face him just as he reaches her. She lets out a startled, "Oh," as he drops the bag of food on her desk and grabs her, his lips slanting over hers. There isn't an ounce of hesitation in her as she responds, pushing up onto her toes to get closer. He growls low in his chest and dip down just enough to grip her ass tight. Felicity breaks away from him with a short cry as his fingers slip under the shorts, finding her bare ass. "Oliver…!"

"These are very short shorts," he whispers, kissing her again, lifting her off her feet slightly.

She giggles, holding onto shoulders, kissing him back. "They aren't _that_ short."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Oliver replies, wiggling his fingers further up the material, making her laugh again before the material pulls tight enough to press against the sensitive flesh between her thighs. The moan she gives has him hardening instantly and he pushes his hands up even further, earning another breathy little sound. "I see your admirer brought flowers in today."

It takes her a second to register the words - really, to register the meaning behind the words - but when she does, she smiles.

 _She smiles._

Oliver narrows his eyes, knowing he's in trouble.

"Do you think he noticed how short my shorts were?" Felicity whispers.

Oh, Oliver's positive he _did_ notice, and that she's even teasing him about it has possessiveness flaring in his chest.

"Felicity…" he replies, dragging her name out.

Mischief and lust fill her eyes as she licks her lips. "I did drop a few things when I first got here," Felicity says, and Oliver narrows his eyes. "I had to bend over to pick them up and I'm sure he saw all sorts of…"

With a growl from deep in his chest, Oliver digs his fingers into her ass hard enough to make her yelp before he kisses her again. She grins against his lips, humming her approval when he backs them up until they run into her desk. All thoughts of food and taking their romantic time together - he even brought candles - evaporate as images of her bent over fill his head.

Not skipping a beat, Oliver pulls back just enough to spin her.

Felicity gasps, and he doesn't give her time to react, flattening his hand against her spine and pushing down over the desk. Her hands smack the surface, pushing paper and files and pens out of the way.

"Oliver," she whines.

He leans over her, nipping at her shoulder through her t-shirt before saying, "Shorts off."

She doesn't have to be told twice. Felicity instantly starts undoing them and Oliver damn near rips his own pants apart in his haste to them out of the way. She wiggles to get her jeans over her lush hips, and the movement sends pleasure sizzling over the surface of his skin. They're a lingering result from her first pregnancy. The thought of seeing her fill out with with new life again has a primordial rush of arousal crashing into him.

God, _he can't wait._

Felicity's shorts hit the ground and she's got her fingers hooked in her polka dot green thong but he stops her with a ragged, "Leave those."

She shudders, looking back at him over her shoulder. He meets her gaze as he pushes his pants and boxers out of the way. Their locked eyes never waver as his hardness springs free. Oliver brushes his hand over her backside, making her twitch before smoothing his hand up underneath her shirt. Goosebumps cover her skin as his fingers work up her spine until he runs into her bra.

Without words, he urges her to lean forward again and steps up behind her.

Felicity braces herself against her desk, pushing up onto her toes, her breaths already harsh and uneven. Keeping his hand on her back, Oliver pushes his other one between her ass cheeks, dragging his fingers down the line of her thong before slipping them down to where her juices have already soaked through the thin material. He groans, his other hand digging into her back, his cock swelling with desire. She's so damn wet, and it thrills him knowing part of that is because of him from their times this morning as much as it's from her need for him, a need that matches his own. They match each other in every single way, and he will forever marvel at how damned lucky he is that he found her. Really, that she found him. That they can share this, be so open and real and unhindered, trusting each other, loving each other. That's the real aphrodisiac right now, the reason why his hardness jerks with need, why he shudders and plasters himself to her back.

"God, Felicity," he breathes, the words choked. He pulls her thong out of the way and grips his erection, guiding himself to her entrance.

She whimpers just before he thrusts into her.

"Ah!" Felicity gasps.

Her inner walls flutter around him in a tiny burst of pleasure, making him hiss. Holding onto her bra, Oliver's other hand grabs her hip and he pulls out, thrusting back into her with enough force to make her lose her balance.

It's quick and hard and _fucking amazing_ as he plows into her from behind. His flesh smacking hers fills the room, the hard thrusts radiating through both of them. Felicity falls forward onto her desk, her hands flying out to grip the edges of it for leverage, but he's too tall and she isn't wearing her usual stilettos, leaving her completely at his mercy.

That alone has both their arousal ratcheting up.

Oliver blankets her body with his and slips his hand around her and between her legs. His fingers find her clit and he wets them with her arousal before he starts rubbing the hardening little pearl. The sounds that erupt from her throat are heady and addicting and he wants more, more, more. He has far more control this time and he concentrates all his energy on pushing her as high as he possibly can…

Until her phone rings.

They both freeze. Neither of them move for a few seconds, their ragged breathing the only sound before the phone rings again.

"Frak," Felicity moans, moving underneath him and it's enough to remind both of them of the very precarious position they're in. She groans a few curse words under her breath that have him both chuckling and hardening even more as she props herself up onto her elbows. "I told Alisa to call me back."

"Is it important?" Oliver asks, his voice low. _Arrow low_. She moans, her silken walls spasming around him, pulling him in deeper. He leans forward, pushing her into the desk, and she whines his name over the sound of the ringing phone as he finds her ear. "I just need a few more minutes to make you come so hard you'll be seeing stars, Felicity." Her response is a mess of indecipherable noises. "Tell her five minutes," he continues, nipping at her ear. "Five minutes and I'll let you finish up here so I can take you home and make love to you until you can't walk."

"Oh my…" Felicity shudders, another string of curse words slipping out, ending it with a desperately breathy, " _Oliver_."

The phone rings a fourth time and she grabs it.

"Hi, Alisa," she says, her voice surprisingly clear, something he takes as a little challenge. "Hi, yeah, I need a few more minutes." Oliver pulls out of her and the rest of her words break off. When he thrusts back in, she has to bite her lip to keep quiet. "Oh!... No, I'm fine, I, uh… I… I stubbed my toe."

Oliver buries his face into the back of her shoulder to hide his laugh.

She quickly ends the call and snaps, "You jerk." But he can hear the grin on her lips. That doesn't stop her from reaching around to slap his arm and back, wherever she can reach. "Well now I'm going to time you, see if five minutes is really…"

He cuts her off with a thrust that rattles her entire desk.

Oliver stays true to his word. He attacks her, pinning her to the desk and thrusts into her hard, his fingers finding her clit again. He has her right back on the edge, and he pushes her even higher. He digs his face into her back, his lips soothing where his stubble scrapes…

And then he bites her shoulder.

Felicity jerks up with a wild, "Oh god, oh god!" her hips bucking without rhythm before exploding around him. She comes with a cry that he's positive can be heard throughout the entire floor and he's quick to follow, holding onto her so hard he'll leave bruises, his back bowing as he buries himself as deep as he can inside her.

They fall forward together in a panting mess. Felicity murmurs under her breath, whimpering with every after-ripple of her orgasm, scratching at her desk. They stay there, Oliver digging his face into her back, Felicity slowly collapsing under his weight. He's not sure how much time has passed, but he's sure it's more than five minutes.

"I think you need to make a call," he whispers. She whines in response, the sound becoming a guttural moan when he slips out of her. He rubs her back, dropping a kiss on her shoulder and spine before standing up. She doesn't move and he chuckles tiredly as he tucks himself back into his boxers, tugging his pants up his hips. He straightens her thong, replacing it where it belongs. She shudders, prompting him to tug on it so it's firmly in place. He plucks at it, making it snap against her skin. He grins at her barely audible outrage and leans over her with a, "Don't take these off."

Felicity moans at the command. She chuckles, shaking her head as she finally pushes herself up. Oliver leans down and helps her with her shorts before she turns around. She gives him a lazy smile as she re-buttons, her lids heavy with residual pleasure. Her hips shift, and he knows there's ample wetness between her thighs. Pride swells in him and he grabs her, leaning in for a kiss. She instantly deepens it and he groans, leaning into her, the kiss turning sloppy before breaking away.

"Mm," Felicity whispers. "I love jealous you."

Oliver grins. "I know."

With a sigh, Felicity finally pushes him back so she can stand. She pulls her hair out and puts her ponytail back in place. She starts dialing the long number for Russia as Oliver grabs the paper bag. "Eat while you talk?"

"Yep." Felicity nods. When he moves to step around her desk she grabs a belt loop on his jeans and tugs him back for one last messy kiss. "And then we're going _home_ ," she says, insinuation dripping from the word.

"God yes," he sighs, kissing her again just as the call connects.

They eat as Felicity works.

When she's determined she's done for the day, they celebrate with Oliver planting her on the edge of her desk and burying his fingers inside her. He wrangles one more orgasm out of her before they head downstairs.

They're about to turn the corner out of the elevator bank when Oliver slides his hand further down Felicity's waist - this time she does roll her eyes at the obvious possessive display, but she doesn't move it…

Except they don't make it.

Felicity's phone erupts with notifications and about four seconds later Oliver's phone is ringing with a call from Diggle.

A sensor had been tripped at one of the warehouses they'd been monitoring for a potential landing spot of the gang Oliver had been watching. Digg had ready access to the bunker's feed and sent Oliver a video from the sensor, showing men carrying crates into a warehouse.

"You want us to meet you at the bunker or…" Diggle asks.

"No," Oliver immediately replies, and Felicity furrows her brow in question. "It's not all of them," he explains, indicating the video. "I don't want to spook them with a full on raid. I'd rather use this to track the crates."

"You sure?" Diggle asks.

"Yeah," Oliver confirms. "Besides, you already have the girls. I'd rather you stay with them."

"Alright, man," Digg says. "Call if you need us."

"Will do."

"No rest for the weary, huh?" Felicity says.

Oliver sighs and presses a quick kiss to her forehead. "This'll be quick," he promises.

It's not.

By the time they get to the bunker and he gets changed and Felicity gets behind her desk it's already almost four in the afternoon. She loads him up with tracker devices and he heads out only to be stuck waiting in the shadows as gang members filter in and out.

"They can't possibly need that many people to babysit guns, right?" Felicity asks. Oliver grunts by way of reply, having moved close enough that anything above a whisper might give away his hiding spot. Felicity continues on. "I could maybe sound a false alarm and draw them away. Although _what_ false alarm is the question…"

"No," Oliver whispers. "I don't want anything to tip them off."

"Yeah, well, I want you to tip me off, if you catch my drift," she replies. His lips twitch. "And I want to tip you off. That isn't as sexy as it probably could sound, but hey, beggars can't be choosers."

Oliver's smile grows, his eyes never leaving the moving bodies before him. He's positive they're about to leave, but they keep coming back into the damned warehouse. She has no idea how many other things he'd rather be doing to her right now. He wants to tell her every single one of them, in explicit detail, but that's all they need: getting caught whispering about exactly how he wants to fuck her against a wall isn't something the Arrow needs right now.

No, they need a win, so…

 _Quiet._

Felicity isn't hindered by any such restriction.

"I guess I could…" she begins and her husky tone has him freezing for an entirely different reason. He chokes on his next breath when she whispers, "Do you know how wet I still am, Oliver?"

He listens to the rustle of her clothes as she readjusts and be can only imagine what she's doing, how she's moving, if she's spreading her legs or if she's feeling how wet…

"It's a little bit of me," she continues, and his eyes slip shut, the front of his leathers growing tight. "And a little bit of you. Remember when you had your fingers inside me earlier? Remember how wet I was?"

" _Felicity_ ," he growls and the instant he realizes what he just said he clamps his mouth shut, gritting his teeth.

"Shh," she whispers, the soft squeak of her chair leaning back sounding.

He swallows hard, readjusting where he's perched, his hand grasping his growing bulge. It's the wrong damn thing to do because his mind fills in the blanks and suddenly it's _her_ hand touching him and he nearly bites through his tongue in his effort to stay quiet.

"I'm touching myself," Felicity says, her voice light and breathy. "Just like you did. Touching my clit and…" She cuts off, her breath catching. "Oh god, I'm so sensitive… _ooh_ , god. You put your fingers inside me, and you… you… you curled them. I love when you do that, Oliver, especially when you pull my bra off…"

She pauses and he knows she pulling her t-shirt and the cup of one breast down, exposing it. The visual of her pinching her nipple hits him hard and he cups himself. He's not thinking, not at all, and even though he's in a potentially highly dangerous situation, that doesn't stop him from closing his eyes and rubbing himself lightly, imagining her delicate little palm doing it for him.

This is dumb, so dumb, but he doesn't stop. The urgency he feels to find her and bury himself as deep as he can inside her is almost punishing.

 _More, more, more._

"I love when your mouth is on my breast, when you do that thing with your tongue…"

 _Push her hard nipple against the roof of his mouth, rubbing it back and forth until she's weeping with pleasure._

"Oliver…"

Felicity whimpers and he barely cuts himself off before groaning out loud. His eyes snap open, analyzing the situation before him. Nothing's changed, nothing except the whispered gasps of pleasure coming from his wife over the comm.

"Shit," he breathes, closing his eyes again.

"What?" Felicity asks, her voice still uneven but suddenly so much clearer. He hears her sitting up with an alertness that is somehow sexier than anything else as she rolls back to her desk. "Oliver?"

"You," he replies, the whisper choked for air. "I want to pick you up and push you up against…"

A ringing cellphone cuts him off.

He freezes, all his attention snapping back to the world around him. Felicity hears it, too, and she stops everything, waiting to see if that's a sign that this can finally be over… or if someone had heard her husband whispering naughty things over his comm and that ringing is reinforcements calling to say they're on their way.

Thankfully, it's the latter.

"We're out," a voice snaps, the sound echoing through the warehouse.

"Oh thank god," Felicity breathes over the line.

Oliver slowly stands, silently cursing at how unwieldy the bulge in his pants is - _goddamn leather pants_. He watches the gang members leave, sliding the large door shut behind them, casting the room in darkness.

"Alright," his wife says, all business. "Here's how you…"

It's such a stark contrast to her breathy moans that it leaves him stunned for a moment, and a little bit annoyed because he was the one whose life was on the line, shouldn't he at least be the one who can go about his business without missing a beat? Instead he hobbles out from his hiding spot as Felicity starts rattling through the places she wants him to place the trackers so they aren't detected.

"I've got it," Oliver interrupts with a little too much force, whipping the trinkets out of his pocket.

Felicity pauses on the other end of the line, and he can practically hear her raising her eyebrow. "A little hot and bothered, hon?"

Her amusement does nothing to make his job easier and he narrows his eyes as he whips through the task at hand. He doesn't respond as he goes through the crates - there's at least twenty five, which has his insides twisting because he's positive this is just one location of at least a dozen if the size of the operation he saw was any indication.

It takes a while, but he finally finishes.

"I'm sorry," Felicity says, her voice softer. "I was just teasing."

"I'm on my way back," Oliver replies gruffly. "I'll see you in a minute."

"Okay."

Her hesitation is obvious and he almost puts her at ease… but then he decides not to. He has something else in mind. The ride back to the bunker takes forever, both of them silent as he races through the streets. He finally pulls into the garage and kills the engine, hopping off.

She's waiting for him when he walks into the main room.

Felicity turns in her chair, biting her lip. She laces her fingers together as she watches him approach. He drops his bow on a table he passes, dropping his gloves on another one. He leaves everything else on save for his hood and mask which he slips down so it's hanging around his neck as he closes the distance between them. He must not be wearing the look she was expecting because her lips part in surprise at the intensity in his eyes and she moves to stand, but he's already reached her.

Oliver pushes his hand into her hair and pulls her up out of her chair, his other hand cupping her jaw, angling her head as his lips cover the shocked gasp she gives him.

The instant they touch, any and all control they might have had disappears.

Felicity grabs his suit, moaning against his lips as he damn near devours her. He pulls her closer, a tight fist in her hair, his other arm dropping to wrap around her waist. He kisses her with a ferocity that leaves both of them breathless, one that leaves her whimpering under the onslaught.

He spins them around, walking her backwards until he finds a pillar.

There's not time for words or pauses, no time for careful removal of clothes or gentleness. Raw animal instinct drives both of them. Felicity almost breaks the zipper on his jacket to get underneath it as Oliver does rip off the button of her shorts, shoving them down her hips. They slip down her legs, pooling at her feet, her wet thong right behind it. Felicity's fingers work at the buttons of his pants, but she's not going nearly fast enough. Stepping back, he quickly undoes them and pushes them down.

She's absolutely stunning where she stands panting against the concrete pillar. Her hair's a wild mess from his hands, her lips painfully swollen and red, her cheeks flush with color and her eyes wide and bright. She's a damned siren, calling to him. She always calls to him, but today…

Today's _different_ , but not in the way he thought it would be. He thought they'd be careful and easy, take their time, make sure things were done right to ensure the conception of their daughter, but that wasn't the case at all. And it shouldn't be, because that's not them. They are ruled by their emotions in the best and worst ways, in a way that strips them of any control, that forces them to respond to their baser needs. It's a fundamental _need_ he feels to fill her with his seed, to share their essence, to _create life_ , and as much as he needs his wife, this… this is _different_.

It's amplified to the point of pain and if he doesn't get inside her _right now_ he's going to _scream_.

Oliver's on her in the blink of an eye. He grabs her ass and shoves her up the pillar, making her yelp in surprised pleasure. Her legs immediately wind around him, tightening them hard enough to make him gasp as she yanks him against her body. With nothing between them his erection slides through her wetness.

Without preamble, he pulls back and thrusts home.

It's pure passion. He fills her over and over, his forehead digging into hers, their breaths mingling between broken, wet kisses. It's hot and hard, and he holds onto her and the pillar for leverage, pinning her to it, plundering her mouth with his tongue as much as she does him. She winds her fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands, dragging her nails against his scalp before grabbing his neck and shoulders, digging in, holding on, which is all she can do as he takes her.

Pleasure burns, sweeping them both away, pulling them under and forcing them up at the same time. Their combined cries fill the bunker, growing louder and louder. Felicity starts to quake around him, her legs tightening, her hips stilling, her mouth falling open in a soundless cry…

When she comes it's with a shout of his name that sends his own pleasure right over the edge.

Her head falls back against the concrete as he thrusts into her, harder and harder, his pelvis slamming into hers, his groans muffled where he buries his face against her throat. Her skin is hot and salty and he opens his mouth to taste her, to feel her racing pulse, to _mark_ her…

Oliver comes, and this time he absolutely falls to pieces with her.

His shaking legs give out a moment later. He grabs her, spinning, taking both of the down to the floor in a mess of limbs that is the opposite of graceful, something his wife comments on with a wry chuckle. He grins, but he's too out of breath to respond, to do anything really but just sit there with her cradled in his lap, his cock slowly softening inside her, their combined juices making a mess that he doesn't mind in the least.

The still-healing wound in his back starts to ache a bit, and the exertion he used catches up with him, leaving him damn near wilted in her arms.

She isn't much better, dozing against his shoulder, her heartbeat slowing, her breaths evening out.

Felicity finally sits up, moving almost in slow motion. She cups his face, scratching at his long stubble before kissing him.

"Today…" she whispers between kisses. "Was perfect."

Oliver nods, cradling her against his chest. "It was," he agrees. "It really was."

It takes them a long while to finally get off the floor and clean up. They take a quick shower together, neither of them having the energy to do much besides help each other clean and steal a few kisses and touches before getting out and heading to pick up their daughter.

The rest of the day is perfectly uneventful, at least by Arrow standards.

By Oliver Queen's standards?

Well… it's the most perfect way to end the day, cooking his girls dinner, giving Jules a bath before a bedtime story - Oliver and Felicity alternate voices, much to Jules' delight - and then dozing on his wife's shoulder, falling asleep to her fingers brushing through his hair as she whispers her plans for Ellie's room.

It's perfect.

And he knows it's only going to get better.

30


	49. January 2034

January 2034

Had she thought about it, Felicity might've seen this coming. Or, at least, something like it.

But she hadn't. So, she finds herself blindsided by an arrogant, part-time philosophy major with a man-bun, a guitar and a beat-up van that she's positive smells like a mixture of patchouli and weed.

He is _not_ good enough for her little girl. Not by a longshot. But Jules isn't a little girl anymore, is she? A week shy of nineteen, she's both capable of making her own choices and entitled to them.

But that doesn't mean that Felicity has to like it. More precisely, it doesn't mean she has to like _him_.

Miles.

Ugh.

" _Wait til you meet him, Mom,_ " Jules had told her dreamily last week. " _He's so smart and creative. And he's got_ the best _taste in music. And he's so cute, Mom. You'll really like him. I know you will._ "

At the time, that had all sounded just fine. Jules being positively _giddy_ had been wonderful, even, especially when considering how she'd been just a few months ago. And Felicity had been fully prepared to greet this new boy in her daughter's life with a warm smile and a place at the dinner table.

Until, of course, he turned out to be… well… _him_.

The first clue to how this is all going to go is his van. She's not about to judge it for being old and beat up - she remembers very well what her first car was like - but the enormous band logo spray painted on the side and the _curtains_ on the windows absolutely set off warning bells in her head.

"Oh," Ellie sighs, looking over her shoulder out the front window. "Great…"

Her tone says loud and clear that she doesn't mean her words at all and Felicity finds her eyes darting back and forth between her younger daughter and the parked van that anyone has yet to get out of.

"What? You don't like Jules' boyfriend?" she asks, rushed and intensely interested.

"He's fine, I guess," Ellie says, shrugging one shoulder. "I only met him for a few minutes when Jules picked me up from volleyball the other day. I don't really know him well enough to dislike him…"

It sounds like she's trying to convince herself that's true and Felicity doesn't believe it for a moment. " _But_ …" she prods.

"But he called my favorite song 'uninspired and insipid,'" Ellie says, tossing her hands up in the air. "First off… _rude_. Second off, who the hell says 'insipid' in conversation? Somebody who wants to make themselves seem smarter than they are, that's who. But whatever. Jules likes him loads, so I guess I can tolerate him for however long he sticks around."

She doesn't like the sound of that at all. Her first impression is only bolstered by the guy when she finally sees him as he and Jules both exit the van. She hadn't been expecting a suit and tie or anything, but it might've been nice if he'd at least made an effort to look presentable. He hadn't. Ripped jeans, grungy band t-shirt with a flannel tossed over it and a sloppy knot of dyed blonde hair at the nape of his neck. She shouldn't dislike him on sight, but she sort of does. It's instinctive. And she has to force a smile on her face as she moves to the door to greet him and Jules.

"Is Will coming to dinner?" Ellie asks, eyes going big as the idea suddenly strikes her.

"Not tonight," Felicity replies.

"Thank goodness," Ellie mumbles, shaking her head and blowing a thin line of air through her lips.

Felicity has to agree with that. She can only imagine Will's reaction to Jules' new boyfriend. It's something she's definitely not looking forward to and she makes a mental note to have a chat with her stepson sooner rather than later. But she doesn't have time to think that through right now because the door pulls open and she's face-to-face with Jules and Miles.

"Hi!" Jules greets happily, briefly letting go of Miles' arm to kiss her mother on the cheek - which is kind of the best part of Felicity's entire afternoon, really - before returning to his side and looking up at her boyfriend like he absolutely hung the moon. "Mom, I want you to meet my boyfriend Miles. Miles, this is my mom."

"Hey," the boy says, tilting his chin up at her in greeting.

"It's nice to meet you, Miles," Felicity tells him, lips curved upward in a nearly painful attempt at a smile. "I've heard so much about you."

"Yeah, that's cool," he agrees, positively oozing arrogance in a way that grates horribly against Felicity's nerves. "Jules talks about you guys, too." That's when he spots Ellie a few feet away. "How's it goin' little E."

"If we're inventing nicknames, I promise I can come up with one you like even less," Ellie deadpans.

"Chill out, kid. I'm just messing with you," he laughs shortly. Jules looks almost ridiculously besotted as she stares up at him, and Felicity finds she's really just uncomfortable more than anything else. This is a trainwreck in motion and she's absolutely powerless to stop it.

"Dinner smells good," Jules volunteers happily, trying to draw everyone into easy conversation.

"I'd say thank you, but you know that's your father's doing," Felicity replies.

"Chicken marsala?" she asks.

"Yes," Felicity agrees.

"Cool. I like mushrooms," Miles nods in approval.

"I bet you do," Ellie grumbles beneath her breath. If Felicity reaches out and grips her arm a little too hard that's mostly to keep from some weird mixture of laughter and panic.

"Well, come on in," Felicity says, gesturing with her free arm. "I'd offer to hang up your coat, but…"

"What we take with us and what we shed as we go says a lot about us as people," Miles tells her, like he's imparting some kind of wisdom. It leaves her blinking. "I don't use a coat because I don't want to be sheltered from the world. I want to be one with it, swim in a sea of experience."

Felicity's a mom and she can't help but say "I'm sure that'll be great fun with frostbite." Ellie coughs and turns her head to the side as she attempts not to laugh, but Jules gives her an incredulous look and Felicity finds herself backpedaling some for her daughter's sake. "As long as you're comfortable, I suppose that's the most important thing."

"I'm not much a fan of comfort," he sniffs, wiping at his nose - which is undoubtedly very cold because it's _January_ and he's absolutely not dressed for the weather at all and when he catches the flu it's gonna be his own damned fault. "Comfort's easy. You can't create without struggle."

"Well, maybe you can… struggle after dinner, then," Felicity tells him, wrinkling her nose with an obviously faked smile. "We like a bit of comfort at the dinner table."

"Most people do," Miles says. Somehow his words sound like judgement.

Felicity's not sure how to respond to that, so she's grateful when Oliver wanders out from the kitchen, dishtowel in hand as he heads their way. Lord but he's attractive. He always is, but something about him cooking just… well, it's very appealing.

"Miles, hi," Oliver greets. "Good to meet you."

It does not escape Felicity that Miles _does_ reach out and shake Oliver's hand. While that's great and all - at least he's showing a _little_ respect - it only drives home that he hadn't done that with her. She dislikes him a little more for it.

"Same," Miles agrees, as briskly as possible. Oliver's face turns slightly harder at that and Felicity is absolutely certain that his grip grows more firm.

"Dinner's ready," Oliver tells them as he lets go of Miles' hand. "Ellie, you wanna grab your brother and go wash up?"

"Sure," she agrees easily, hurrying off to find Nate.

"Table's set, if you guys wanna go take a seat," Oliver tells Jules and Miles.

"Come on. I'll show you where it is," Jules tells Miles, tugging slightly on the arm she's clinging to. He follows and it's only after the couple are beyond the threshold of the living room that Felicity gives her husband an expressive look. Eyes wide, head shaking, she holds her hands up and shrugs all in one motion.

"Chalk it up to growing pains," he tells her, kissing her temple. "We've all had them. Some lessons can't be learned the easy way. "

" _Apparently_ ," Felicity agrees, placing her hand into Oliver's outstretched one and following him into the kitchen.

Those words, though… the way Oliver had worded it… that will stick with her for some time and as the night wears on she'll realize why.

It isn't just that she dislikes Miles. It's that she dislikes who he reminds her of.

Jules has always been like a mirror into her younger years, for Felicity. And Miles… god, but Miles is Cooper to a T. He's arrogant without the grounds to back it up and he's entirely too off-handed about a girlfriend who clearly cares more about him than he does about her. Felicity would do anything to intercede now, to tell Jules to learn from her own mistakes and end this before it really begins. But her daughter is absolutely infatuated, blind to her boyfriend's _many_ faults, and Felicity knows exactly how poorly such an appeal would go.

So, it'll just be time that does them in, then. It will hurt. God, but it'll hurt. Felicity knows that from experience. But she will absolutely be there to help Jules pick up the pieces when this boy who doesn't deserve her inevitably shatters her heart.

Dinner is… well, it's delicious, which is wonderful because it gives Felicity an easy reason to take another bite instead of making comments. She's never been great at holding her tongue, but she has to today and she knows it. Honestly, by the time the night is through she'll be pretty sure she's due some kind of award for everything she doesn't say.

"Jules tells me you're a philosophy major?" Oliver asks, passing more noodles to Ellie, who is not-so-covertly texting someone - Sara, undoubtedly - beneath the table. "What year are you?"

"I've almost got enough credits to be a junior, but I'm taking a break to focus on the important things," Miles answers.

"More important than _school_?" Nate asks aghast, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

"The world's a better teacher than any professor," Miles tells him. Nate could not look more offended if he tried. "Who wants to be stuck in a box filling out spreadsheets anyhow?"

"Me?" Nate asks, looking at everyone else around the table for agreement. Felicity stifles a laugh and grins at her not-so-little boy. He's got to be the most businesslike eleven-year-old she's ever met and he could not be more opposite from Jules' new boyfriend. He'll be very confused about Miles. Felicity knows that for sure. And she expects quite a few questions from him in the coming days.

"You can't find truth in a textbook," Miles says. "Art is truth's habitat, man. You gotta create, gotta experience and express your truth. Cause that's all life really is, you know? Watchin' the clock tick down from behind a desk isn't living."

Nate doesn't even mask his disbelief as he turns and stares at his mother. _Are you hearing this?_ his face asks. _Can you believe this guy_?

"Miles has a band," Jules tells Nate, like that explains everything. "He's _amazing,_ Nate. A real artist. He writes all his own music and they play a few gigs a week around town."

The look of pride on Miles' face as he looks at Jules tells Felicity quite clearly why he's dating her little girl. It's not _just_ looks and it doesn't seem to be money - if anything he'd looked at any sign of their wealth around the home with clear distaste - but her praise and support of his music clearly means a lot to Miles. And that… well that makes the inevitable breakup messier, doesn't it? It intertwines them together more, gives them a common ground to bond over that isn't just hormones and surface level attraction.

"Ever play Verdant?" Oliver asks, trying to draw Miles back into conversation. "I haven't had a hand in it for decades, but the family still owns it. I could introduce you to the manager, if you like."

"Nah, it's cool," Miles says, to both Oliver and Felicity's surprise. "Art's gotta speak to you to be appreciated. I wanna make it because I'm telling truths and making people feel, not because my girl's dad owns a club, you know?"

And, in spite of everything else about Miles, Felicity can immediately see that the boy has impressed her husband. At least on this one level.

"I can respect that," Oliver tells him. "I'll pass along to Jules if I hear anything about auditions. In case you're interested."

"That'd be cool," Miles agrees with a pensive nod.

"The guys would probably really appreciate it," Jules points out. From the angle of her arm, Felicity's pretty sure she's rubbing her boyfriend's knee and that's… well, it's uncomfortable if you're Felicity. It's making her eye twitch.

"Yeah," Miles nods, giving Jules an appreciative look. "You're good to look out for them, babe."

... _Babe_ …

"Oliver, can you pass the wine, please?" Felicity asks.

"Can I have some?" Ellie asks.

"You're fifteen, Elizabeth," Felicity reminds her sharply.

"And a half," she points out.

"Which makes you five and a half years away from a glass of wine," Oliver smiles.

"Phooey," Ellie announces with a pout.

"It's not that far off," Miles tells her. "Life happens when you're not looking."

Felicity's starting to suspect most of his vocabulary is just recycled fortune cookie lines.

"Sorta happens when you are looking, too," Nate points out, fully unimpressed by Miles on every level. "It's not like it stops and starts unless you're being born or dying."

"So many absolutes from you, kid," Miles chuckles. "It's cute."

"Great. Thanks," Nate says sarcastically. "Dad, dinner was great. Can I be excused to go finish my homework, please?"

It's probably unfair to be jealous of her son's easy escape, but as Oliver agrees and Nate scurries off to put his dishes in the sink, she definitely is anyhow.

"Nate's idea of art is a well-constructed math problem," Jules tells Miles. "He's not gonna get what you're saying."

"Doesn't mean it shouldn't be said," Miles tells her.

"That's true," she sighs softly with the biggest case of heart-eyes Felicity's ever seen. "You're right."

"How'd you guys meet?" Oliver asks the couple. "Jules didn't actually say."

Oliver probably thinks he's being clever, but Felicity knows him well and his question was meant mostly to break the uncomfortably intimate eye contact going on. She's grateful it works. Ellie definitely is, too. She's eyeing the kitchen doorway like she's wondering if she can escape like Nate did.

"You know that vintage record shop up on tenth and Morris?" Jules asks. "We were both digging through some old vinyl. They had this old Rolling Stones album neither of us have and it was… kinda love at first track, you know?"

Oh… oh but Felicity wishes so much that her little girl were not using the L-word. Not with this boy. Not now. Not like this.

But it's Oliver who asks the question she probably should have thought of. "So who bought the album?"

Jules looks surprised. "Well… he did. He's the one with the band, after all. Music's like really important to him. And if I want it, I can always order it on eBay or something."

It feels like a bigger statement about their relationship than Jules had intended and it brings back memories for Felicity of all that time spent at Cooper's side, how he made things about himself, how everything seemed more important for him than for her, how he somehow managed to make her believe that. A knot of tension settles deep in Felicity's gut and she's pretty sure it won't go away entirely until Miles does.

Oliver hums thoughtfully. It's a judgement and Jules knows it.

"If it were a painting we both wanted, he'd totally have let me have it," she adds. "Because that's more important to me. It's just give and take, is all. Balance."

Oliver doesn't look convinced. Felicity isn't either.

"Well," Ellie pipes up, standing. "Luckily for me, I don't have to share my insipid, uninspired music, so I'm gonna go upstairs and listen to that for a bit."

"Whatever speaks to your soul," Miles replies like he's humoring her.

"No offense, Miles, but that's definitely not Naive Experience," she tells him.

For a moment, Felicity thinks she heard her daughter wrong because the sentence simply doesn't make sense. Not until Miles replies, anyhow.

"It's cool. Music taste grows as you do. What you like now might not be what you like in a few years," he says.

Somehow, it clicks off of that.

"Your band's name is Naive Experience?" Felicity asks.

"It's from philosophy," Miles tells her. "Like you can look at things two ways, you know? You can see the whole of it, from like the whole universe perspective. Or you can be in it and live it in an ordinary way. So that's what Naive Experience means. It's like having this moment where you're just learning and living but it doesn't give you the whole truth cause you just can't see it and that's what music's about to me. It's like this sliver of understanding where you try to to step back and be theoretical and pull in all these parts to give you Truth - big T on that Truth - but having that perspective approaches impossible because we're only human, you know? We've got these limits, so we just gotta try. And sometimes we get closer to true theoretical views of the world, but most of the time we're just trapped in this naive experience that we try to piece together with other bits of our lives to find meaning."

Felicity isn't entirely sure how she manages to keep a straight face at that, but it probably has something to do with the fact that her brain absolutely short-circuits at the level of faux-depth on display right in front of her. Jules, though… Jules is looking at her boyfriend like he's imparting some glimmer of inner brilliance. She's soaking it all up entirely. And Felicity wants to grab her wrist, pull her aside and tell her that this boy beside her isn't worth her time, doesn't know a thing, that she has more depth in her pinky nail than this guy has in his whole body.

In truth, though, she'd probably think that about most boys for Jules. Felicity sort of doubts she'll ever think anyone is good enough for her baby. And Jules… well, Jules is happy. She's _happy_ \- blindingly so - and maybe that gives this guy some kind of value.

"A few gigs a week is pretty steady work for a local band," Oliver says, somehow managing to completely bypass the bullshit and refocus the conversation. She credits his experience with politics because it's _surely_ beyond her right now. "Your parents must be pretty proud of that."

Quite suddenly, the false confidence and bravado seeps away and Felicity finds herself looking at a little boy who's just playing at being a man.

"Not sure my dad cares much beyond me pitching in to pay the electric bill. He's too busy to pay much attention," Miles shrugs, pushing some noodles around his plate. Jules is holding onto his arm like she's trying to lend him some strength, her brow furrowed and lips tightly pursed. "And my mom definitely doesn't give a damn."

Felicity's reaction to that is kneejerk, a quiet, consoling "Sometimes we moms show our worry for our kids more than our pride in them."

The look Miles gives her back is so blatantly hurt, so very _young_ that it absolutely brings out the mom in her, makes her want to hug the kid and insist he wear a damned jacket when he goes outside. Even before he speaks, it sinks in that he hasn't had anyone do that for him in a very long time.

"Sometimes," he agrees. "Not all the time. My mom bailed when I was twelve. Haven't heard from her since. It's fine, though. It's cool. She's gotta live her own life, right? I don't hold it against her. The universe works in crazy ways sometimes. Maybe her path and mine just weren't meant to overlap that much."

Felicity's heart breaks for the young man in front of her but it breaks more for the traces of the twelve year old boy peeking through. She wants to tell him that he's wrong, that his mom failed him, that he deserves better, that she's missing out. But that's not her place and it would do no good, so she bites her tongue and smiles sadly at him instead.

"Anyhow," Miles continues, shaking off his uneasiness and looking to his side. "Jules says you both encourage her dancing and her painting. That's pretty cool. I think she's lucky to have that positive energy surrounding her."

"We're the lucky ones," Oliver replies, studying Miles closely. Felicity wonders what he sees.

"Dad…" Jules blushes, rolling her eyes.

"Nah, it's true, Babe," Miles chimes in. "You're pretty awesome. You got this way about you that draws people in. Like gravity. Like you're the sun and everybody around you is a planet that falls into your orbit. You shine your light on us all and let us show our own beauty. I'm gonna use that in your song... Celestial Bodies. You got the whole universe inside you, Jules, and you don't even see it."

It's cheesy, but it's also said with bald-faced honesty and Jules positively melts with all of that adoration and praise directed at her.

This boy will break her daughter's heart one day. Felicity knows that with every fiber of her being. But for now… for now, she thinks maybe this is something Jules needs - someone focused on her, who tells her she's wonderful and makes her believe it. As much as Miles is definitely not someone she would have picked for her little girl, she can see why Jules chose him. He adores that she adores him. That, in itself, can be a bit addictive, can look like love if y you don't focus on it closely. It'll burn out quickly and painfully - these kinds of relationships always do - but she can't even resent the boy. Not yet. He's young. Too full of himself by half. Irksome on a dozen different levels. But he doesn't know what he's doing any more than Jules does. And he does care about Jules on some level and he makes her happy. Truly _happy_. Not content or unbothered, but full-on joyful.

For that reason alone, Felicity decides she will put up with this boy. She smiles when he calls her 'Mrs. Q' and doesn't say a word when he doesn't offer to help with dishes and bites her tongue when he shakes Oliver's hand goodbye, but not hers.

The things she will do to see Jules happy, she realizes, are near endless.


	50. October 2036

**October 2036**

There's something about putting on his uniform that changes Will's mindset, makes him focus and feel like _more_ than just himself. It's armor, in a way, and he has loved it from his very first day as a firefighter.

He wonders if his dad feels the same way about green leather. Will's never asked, but the one time he had to don it, he definitely didn't have the same sense of rightness fall over him. Far from it. No, that sense of belonging is reserved for his firefighting gear alone. Even his dress uniform doesn't have quite the same effect. But this… this just feels right. It feels like _him_.

Even if his job today is a bit different than usual.

He leans back against a rickety table and fully ignores his three teammates for a moment as his phone dings and draws the whole of his attention.

" _So far today, the copier jammed, my assistant lost a really important flashdrive, my meeting showed up thirty-five minutes early and I broke my favorite coffee mug. Is it five yet?"_

A no-doubt ridiculous grin spreads across his face at the text and he filters out the background noise of Sara sighing while Javi says something lewd. He can't care about them right now. Not when Amelia's texting him.

" _when's the last time u left work at 5?"_ he asks.

" _The point is that I_ could _, Will,"_ she counters immediately. He can almost hear her voice saying it, all indignant and secretly amused. He wishes he could see her face as she says it, but a static shot of her that he saved from her Facebook account stares back at him instead. That's probably for the best. She'd read him like a book right now and he can't really rein in the way he looks at his _phone_ when she texts, so he'd probably be a whole lot worse in person.

" _mhmm, k,"_ he replies instead.

" _Would it kill you to reply in full sentences?_ " comes through a moment later.

" _y?"_ he replies. He can't resist.

"…" is her entire reply.

" _u luv it_ ," he tells her.

" _Do I_?" she asks.

" _u must. we keep texting, don't we?"_

That might be pushing it and he sort of wonders if that'll be the end of the conversation. He's been so good about restraining himself with her lately, playing it cool and casual, not threatening to challenge their silently agreed upon boundaries. But sometimes… sometimes a bit of reality peeks through all of that and too much honesty seeps in.

This time, she lets it go and the conversation continues.

" _Hope your day's better than mine_ ," she tells him. " _At least none of my fires to put out are literal._ "

" _me either, today_ ," he tells her. " _community outreach day."_

" _Are you saving kittens from trees_?"

He actually snorts at his phone, which earns a "God I can't even watch this" from Sara and the biggest frustrated sigh Will's ever heard from Alex. Will's not about to let them drag down his mood, though. Not when Amelia's texting him back and being cute and playful and fun and… wow, he really likes this.

" _more like saving Nate & his buddies from an hr of class. career day_," he tells her.

She types and deletes a few things before " _You're in your uniform at a high school_?" eventually comes through.

" _yes. y?"_ he asks, confused.

" _How many girls have asked you to teach them CPR so far?"_ she asks. His heart trips all over itself because it's teasing and it's cute but… okay, maybe he's reading too much into it, but it also sounds a little jealous.

" _none yet, but we haven't started. wanna come b my bodyguard and save me from the hoards of teenage girls?"_

"Will… man… what the hell are you doing?" Alex asks him, pinning him with a look he can feel without even casting his eyes toward his friend.

"I am… texting with my friend," Will answers, sparing his teammates a glance.

"You're beyond helping," Sara decides aloud. Will sticks his tongue out at her, but quickly returns his attention to his phone when it dings again.

" _Not unless you can get The Flash to zip me down to Starling. You happen to have a hookup?_ "

" _u never know. i have surprising depth. maybe i work w/ him. maybe he's an old friend. wouldn't u b surprised if he showed up & brought you here._"

Will would never do that. But even just knowing such a suggestion isn't actually unthinkable, knowing Barry would answer his call, act first and ask questions later… well that makes this whole exchange a whole lot more fun.

" _You've always managed to surprise me,"_ she answers. He actually shoves Javi away as his friend tries to peek at his phone. Not _now_ , man. Definitely not now.

Her message follows up quickly with " _Got another mtg. TTYL."_

" _now who's not talking in full sentences?"_ he asks. " _guess I'm a bad influence_."

A winking smiley face is her only reply and he's left standing there in his brother's school gym wondering what exactly that emoji meant. Was it flirty? Was it just playful? Was it friendly? He needs to see her, to soak in her presence and get a feel for where she's really at. But she's hours away and she's far from available so that is - to his increasing frustration - very much not an option.

"Your _friend_?" Alex asks. Will looks to find his squad leader staring at him with a disbelieving look, his massive arms crossed in front of him, decked out in full turnout gear and flanked by Sara and Javi. It's an imposing sight.

"Yeah," Will agrees defensively. "My friend."

"Vato, you aren't this dumb," Alex tells him. It rankles Will to his core. "You and her can't be friends and you gotta know that."

"Well, we are," Will counters, raising his chin in defiance. "Why can't we be friends? We get along. I like talking to her."

"Because you're in love with her, you idiot," Sara tells him blankly. As if he didn't know that already. "Tell me at least _one_ of your sisters has made you watch any rom-com ever."

"Life's not a movie, Sara," he tells her.

"Of course not," she says, tossing her hands up. "That's what makes this a disaster waiting to happen, Will. Are you planning on being her platonic friend for the rest of her life? Sitting front row at her wedding one day and wishing her well as she marries someone else? Or are you thinking she'll quietly fall so hopelessly in love with you that she ditches her boyfriend, city and job to be with you instead? Because the first one just sounds painful and the second sounds _like a ridiculous rom-com that never actually happens_."

He loves Sara like a sister. He really does. And it's only because of that - because of decades of a family-like relationship - that he doesn't utterly snap at the younger woman. She's new to their company, still probationary, filling Elliot's spot after he left for Gotham. She's fit in with surprising ease, eager to prove herself. Will's always known her to be brave and competent, so he wasn't surprised she made a great addition to their team. But moments like this… moments like this remind him that she's still the little girl who once argued with him that baseball was boring, who told him he was wearing enough hair gel to keep the company afloat, who once flicked peas at him throughout dinner.

Okay… he thinks maybe Ellie started that last one, but the point is that sometimes he's a little _too_ familiar with Sara for a work setting and they're still trying to figure out how to balance that. Today, it seems, they simply don't.

"Did I ask you to weigh in on my love life? Want me to return the favor?" he questions, honing in on Sara, who suddenly looks wildly uneasy. He wonders what he stumbled on with _that_ thought, but doesn't dwell on it because Alex suddenly chimes in again.

"Thought she was just a friend."

And… _fuck_. Fuck. That's just…

"I said she was my friend," Will agrees. "I never said that's all she is to me."

"She know that?" Javi asks. For once, his coworker looks serious. Will sorta hates it.

"How could she possibly not?" Sara demands with a derisive laugh. Her voice is more dulled than before, a little more closed off, but she says it anyhow. "Maybe she's pretending she doesn't, but… she's got to know. There's just no way this doesn't wind up with you hurt, Will. None of us want that. That's all."

It's honest, painfully so, and Will's annoyance melts away in the face of genuine concern. He's never been able to stay annoyed at Sara for long.

"The first time she texted me, after we ran into each other at brunch, she made it clear where she stands. She went back to… to Central City, to her life there. I'm the one who suggested we could be friends," Will tells Sara. "I can't pretend that's all I want from her, but if the choice is between friends and nothing at all, it's an easy decision."

"She's gonna break your heart, Will," Sara tells him. Her voice is so heavy, like the truth of her words alone should be enough to dissuade him from keeping up contact with Amelia. He thinks she's missing a big part of the point. His heart was always Amelia's, no matter what she chose to do with it.

"Sara… that doesn't mean she shouldn't have it in the first place," he replies. The sort of feelings he has for Amelia are rare. Will knows that. He's dated more than his fair share and he's never found anything else like the sense of _rightness_ he finds with Amelia. If anything, these last few months of chatting, of getting to know each other, have only made him fall more in love with her. Even if it were a choice - and it's not - he'd give his heart to Amelia, regardless of knowing she won't give her own back.

Except… except, he's also not sure that she won't. In time. There are these moments between them, these sparks, and it feels like they could stretch into infinity. They don't talk about Thad at all, but Will has to imagine that whatever she has with the other man pales in comparison to the simple, heartfelt interactions they have together. And so, Sara isn't _entirely_ wrong. Part of Will does think maybe there's a future for him and Amelia. Maybe she'll see how amazing they could be. Maybe she'll leave her boyfriend, maybe she'll show up at his doorstep and tell him how fighting this thing between them seems so pointless. Maybe...

"Let it be," Alex says, setting a hand on Sara's shoulder. She's clearly confused, can't conceive of Will's readiness to make himself vulnerable when he knows it's likely to end in pain. But Will, in those small moments where it's just him and Amelia, talking or texting or sending each other ridiculous memes, has a kind of peace and joy, a sense of _hope_ that he's never found elsewhere. And when she laughs because of him… when she's happy because of _him_ … God, he'd endure whatever the outcome just to have that happen. "Let it be, Sara. Some fires gotta burn themselves out. You learned that day one."

She's obviously frustrated by this answer, but she holds her tongue and turns away with a shake of her head. Will gets it. He knows how it looks from the outside. But, to the best of his knowledge, Sara's never been in love. And that changes things. It changes everything.

"We set?" Will asks, refocusing on the moment as he looks to Javi.

"Yeah, we're solid," Javi replies.

"We should've done this outside," Will winces, looking over the equipment. "Kids love the truck."

"Logistical problems with that," Alex tells him as the school bell rings and the dull roar of teenage chatter drifts in from the hallway. "It's gonna rain. Gotta make do."

They aren't the only ones whose Career Day plans were thrown for a loop by the weather. SCPD's got an incredibly lame table on the other side of the gym and there's a group of electrical union workers with a photo of their line truck. Most groups have fared better, though. There's a group of dental hygienists in particular with a whole digital picture frame full of smiling teeth and a row of baggies no doubt filled with floss and miniature tubes of toothpaste. And QI even has a table set up, which kind of makes Will do a double-take, but he doesn't recognize anyone there. Obviously Felicity isn't going to show up for this. CEOs don't really do Career Day. Not even at their son's school. Maybe especially then. Will can't imagine how he'd have taken it if his mom had showed up for Career Day when _he_ was a high school freshman.

As always, thoughts of his mom are like a sharp lance to his heart, but Will pushes it down and refocuses on the job. He's always done that. Ever since he lost her, he's redirected all of that pain and all of that frustration into two things - his work and his family. Today, he's got both at once. Today's easy.

Kids pour into the gym, a seemingly neverending sea of teenagers, most of whom show casual interest at best in their surroundings. He spots Nate immediately, in spite of the throng of people. It helps that Nate is _tall_. He's a solid head above most of his classmates, but that does nothing to make him seem less awkward. If anything, it's like his little brother has yet to figure out what to do with his long limbs and oversized feet. He's a gangly teenage boy, a total beanpole who has yet to fill out at all, and Will doesn't bother biting back a smile as he sees the fourteen-year-old make a bee-line for the QI booth as he straightens the collar on his button-up dress shirt.

God, that kid…

Will shakes his head as he watches. He loves that damn kid so much. He's not sure he's ever met someone who was more sure of what they wanted in life, more driven and focused. He's also absolutely sure that Nate thinks he's got a whole lot more figured out about the world and about himself than he really does.

But lately, he suspects Nate's had a harder time of things than he's been letting on.

Change doesn't sit easily with a kid so driven by routine and it seems like the world's been moving faster lately, as though life has sped up like the downward slope of a rollercoaster. And Nate… Nate's just hanging on waiting for things to even out.

Jules moving out last year had been the first blow to his sense of normalcy. It's not that Nate objects to Jackson - there's really nothing objectionable about the guy… even to Will - but it had still been a foreign concept, seeing his big sister move in with her boyfriend. The second, arguably bigger hit had been Ellie deciding to live in the dorms when she started college last month, at the same time that Nate had started high school.

On one hand, Nate's fourteen-years-old and he's probably really happy to not have his sisters in his business all the time. But on the other, Nate's a really affectionate kid who's very invested in his family. To go from a loud, bustling house to having an entire floor to himself probably has him feeling a bit left behind. Some of that has manifested in butting heads with their dad and clinging tighter to his mom.

Will gets it. He _does_. He knows on a much deeper level what it's like to lose family, how that can mess with your head and make you equal parts push people away and pull them close. But knowing that just makes him more stubbornly set on being there for his little brother. Whether he likes it or not.

"He'll be running that booth inside of ten minutes," Sara says from his side. It's a peace offering of sorts, he thinks.

Will takes the olive branch without hesitation. "It's hard to see from here, but I think he's already rearranging their brochures."

An instant later, as if on cue, the both snort as Nate reaches up to straighten out the QI banner behind the booth. But they can't devote a ton of attention to the youngest Queen at the moment, because there's work to do and the fire department is always a big draw at career fairs. Even without the engine.

To be honest, Will enjoys this kind of thing a whole lot more with little kids. Watching elementary schoolers and preschoolers get all wide-eyed and excited and beg to flip on the siren is a hell of a sight. But this is good, too. And it's important.

They get maybe four or five kids who are honestly interested in fire fighting. Sara spends a solid twenty minutes talking with a girl who has seemingly never-ending technical questions. Will fully expects to see her in uniform one day. A group of three boys, definitely egging each other on and acting as a pack, loudly declare their intent to be firemen. But it's a group-think kind of thing and Will's pretty sure that if they do try, they'll all wash out or give up. It's not the life for everyone. Two others are scared off from the career once they find out there are 24-hour shifts. A conversation with another leads Will to gently steer the high school senior toward being an EMT, which definitely seems much better suited for the kid.

It goes well, really. They're kept busy and the kids seem equal parts entertained by exploring their equipment and interested in what the job is really like.

Firefighting looks more glamorous than it is from the outside, so he's an honest as possible about the realities of what he does. It's hard, Will tells them all honestly. Exhausting and demanding and sometimes traumatic. But also worth it. There's nothing else he'd rather be doing and no one else he'd rather work with.

There's a bond that comes with being part of this company that he can't expect anyone else to understand. He and Alex and Javi and Sara - and Elliot before her - have each other's full trust. They all _know_ they can rely on each other, put their lives in each other's hands. There's a kinship in that he couldn't explain even if he tried. And he doesn't.

Lots of kids sneak out before the end of the class period. It's the last of the day and, since they don't have to check in with anyone, it's really easy to play hookey. Will can't blame them. He'd have done the same at their age, had he even shown up in the first place. And, while the school undoubtedly frowns on it, Will's actually grateful. It thins out the crowd to those who have serious interest and questions.

And Nate.

Of course Nate doesn't leave. He's probably horrified that anyone did.

But it isn't actually Nate that Will notices first. No, it's his friend Carlos. What Nate has in height, Carlos has in volume.

" _Dude_ , I forgot your bro's a firefighter! You gotta borrow the uniform. Girls _love_ a guy in uniform."

Will barely manages to smother a laugh as he turns and raises an eyebrow at his brother's friend. He sorta loves that Nate's got this kid as a friend. He needs someone this loud and boyish and absurd in his life.

"I don't need a uniform," Nate says, blushing intensely and looking everywhere but the people around him. He does that now, when the subject of girls comes up, much to Will's glee.

"Not for you, bro!" Carlos snorts. "You gotta hook me up!"

Will does laugh at that. "Don't think you could fill it out, kid. But it's October. One of those Halloween costume stores should have a bad rip-off in your size. That'd suit," he tells Carlos. That's met with an " _Ohhhh_ burn!" from their friend Matt as he smacks Carlos' shoulder repeatedly.

He might be 28-years-old now, but being around Nate's friends brings him right back to his early high school days, reminds him what it was like to be just like them. For all his love of Nate, he definitely had a whole lot more in common with Carlos and Matt at that age.

"It's cool. It's cool," Carlos says, adjusting his collar and shoving Matt off. "I see how it is."

"You want a uniform, you gotta earn it," Will tells him, a touch more seriously. "It's not a prop to get girls."

"But it works so well, man!" Carlos protests, gesturing to three girls that Will hadn't even noticed standing a few feet away. They're older than Nate, probably eighteen, but they look like kids to him these days - when the hell did that happen? - and it's awkward the way they're not-so-subtly checking him and Javi and Alex all out.

"We only wear uniforms on the job," Will tells the boys, turning away entirely from the girls because they really are making him sort of uncomfortable. "And the job is not somewhere to pick up girls."

"Sure it is!" Carlos says, somewhat flabbergasted. "You're all swooping in hero-like, saving lives in uniform? Girls have gotta love that."

"Carlos… we're there for the worst moments of a lot of people's lives," Will points out. "Most of the time, the people we help are in shock or traumatized. There's nothing that could make me take advantage of that."

Stated that baldly, Carlos actually looks a little abashed at his words. "There's gotta be lots of little stuff, too though," he presses. "Fender benders and broken smoke alarms and shit like that, right?"

"Sure," Will nods. "A lot of the time it's nothing major. Most of the time, even. But I'm still there to do a job, to be relied on as someone who ensures people's safety. Blurring those lines would be a disservice to the uniform and to my team."

"...huh…" Matt says, watching him like he can't quite make sense of the words. Nate, however, looks incredibly proud and Will loves his little brother just a bit more for that.

"So you _never_ used your job to get a girl?" Carlos asks. He's all disappointment.

"Not on the job," Javi chimes in, hopping up onto the table right next to where Will is leaning back. "But mentioning it's sure as hell gotten him more than a few numbers after a couple of drinks at the bar. Back when he wasn't hung up on that one chick in Central City, anyhow."

Will sighs and grits his teeth a little at that because Javi just _would_ have to egg the boys on, wouldn't he? And bringing Amelia up? In front of Nate? Will might have to throttle his friend later.

"I don't need my _job_ to get a girl," Will scowls back at Javi.

"Nah, but it doesn't exactly hurt either, does it?" Javi laughs. "You remind Amelia what you do? Maybe that'll help."

If looks could kill, Javi would be dead at the moment. "Shut up, Javi," he grits out.

"Amelia?" Nate asks, looking between the two of them. Surprise is written all over his face and, while Will has no objection to talking about girls with his little brother, he's not sure he wants to talk about Amelia. He's not really sure what he'd say anyhow, but he's starting to suspect he's gonna have to figure that out. And _fast_.

"Yeah," Javi agrees. " _Amelia_."

"Can we just… not?" Will asks uncomfortably.

He's gruff enough about it that neither of Nate's friends say anything and Javi puts his hands up in compliance. But the long moment of silence that follows is awkward.

"I like her," Nate volunteers after a minute, pulling Will's attention. He feels oddly vulnerable right now and he's not sure why, but having hints of his feelings exposed for his little brother's judgement makes a surge of panic slip through his veins. "She's nice, I mean," Nate adds. "And really smart. And pretty. I can see why you might… you know… have a thing for her. I just didn't know you were still in touch."

"We're friends," Will replies. He wonders if Nate will buy that. The more they talk, the less _he_ does. He's so in love with Amelia he can't see straight and he's not sure how long he can keep up pretenses that this is all platonic. So far, he thinks she's writing his flirting off as just part of his nature - and it is, but it's also more than that.

"But…" Nate starts, his brow furrowing as he tries to work things through in his head. "How can you…"

Will sees the wheels working in his brother's head. The kid's young, so young, and he's honestly just starting to develop an interest in girls. They're confusing and Will's situation with Amelia is… well it's not exactly straightforward, is it? He rubs his hand against his chin with a heavy sigh and glances to the side. Most of the other booths are starting to break down and the gym is increasingly empty.

"Alex, you mind if I go on a coffee run?" he asks.

It's not what he means, though. Not really. And Alex knows it.

"Sure. I'll take a cappuccino. Javi? Sara?" Alex questions, looking toward the rest of the team.

"Just drip's fine with me," Sara says - as if Will didn't already know that. It's Javi that's the wild card.

"Oh, I'll take a venti half-caff peppermint mocha - with whip - heavy on the peppermint and some of that chocolate sauce on top, too. Extra hot. And grab a sugar packet in case they don't go heavy enough on the syrup cause sometimes they just don't do it right," Javi tells him.

"How the hell do you still have _teeth_?" Sara asks, pulling a face.

"I'm an excellent tooth-brusher," Javi replied loftily.

"Got it," Will nods. He doesn't miss the way Nate's face has fallen a bit. He clearly thinks he's being left behind, but that's not what Will has in mind at all. "Carlos, Matt… you guys want anything? It's on me."

"I could go for a chai," Matt says.

"Yeah, same. Thanks man," Carlos nods.

"Got it," Will says before turning to his brother. "Come on."

"...What?" Nate asks, a couple mental steps behind him.

"I can't carry that much on my own. You're coming with me," Will tells him.

"Oh…" Nate says, looking at the clock. "But I-"

"You can text your mom on the way," Will tells him with a clap on his shoulder. "Come on."

"Keep your walkie on," Alex reminds him, giving him a look. There's a Starbucks just across the street and they're scheduled to be doing community outreach stuff 'til five, but that doesn't mean they couldn't be called if there was a big emergency. Will nods in agreement and leads Nate out of the gym.

The halls are pretty empty, most kids having cleared out quickly or scrambled to get whatever team has practice after class, but that doesn't help Will feel any more comfortable about the conversation he knows is coming.

"So…" Nate says. Will can feel his eyes on him. He's felt them since the moment he started talking about coffee. "I, uh… how's Amelia, then?"

Lord, this boy is not subtle about anything, is he?

"She's good," Will says, pushing the front doors to the school open and finding the rain has stopped for the moment. "Happy. But that's not really what you wanted to ask me, is it?"

"I dunno," Nate says, staring at the ground in front of his feet and kicking at a stone. "Maybe?"

"Bullshit," Will tells him. "If you wanted to know how Amelia was, you could've asked dad. They work together often enough."

"He know you like Amelia?" Nate asks.

"Yeah," Will replies with a little laugh. "I kinda thought everyone did."

"Even her?" Nate questions. "I mean… when you like a girl, how do you... you know, be friends with her without screwing it all up? How do you even look at her without getting so nervous you can't even talk?"

Will fights a smile at that last question, but he's sure it shows in his eyes anyhow. "Practice," he says as they head toward the crosswalk. "Being nervous doesn't go away. That's how you know it's worth it."

"It sucks," Nate mutters beneath his breath.

Will lets out a barking laugh and wraps an arm around his little brother's shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze. "Welcome to the edge of adulthood, kid," he says. "You wanna tell me about the girl?"

"No," Nate says immediately, followed by "...maybe."

Will just looks at him sideways and gives him a disbelieving look. That's quite literally all it takes to get Nate talking.

"She's my partner in biology, Will. _Biology_ ," he says in exasperation. The poor kid's voice squeaks. "Do you know what they teach in biology?"

"Pretty sure they teach biology, if I recall," Will replies with dry amusement.

"They teach… you know… _stuff_ ," Nate tells him intensely.

"I'm gonna assume you mean sex ed and if you can't actually say those words that's gonna be a whole different conversation later, but probably one you should have with Dad," Nate tells him.

Nate clams up and pales horribly at that as Will rolls his eyes. "Believe me when I say that Dad is not actually that bad to talk to about sex. Particularly since it's all theoretical for you at this point, which is an advantage that I did not have for our first talk." Both of Nate's eyebrows shoot up at that, practically reaching his hairline. "I was sixteen and it seemed like a great idea at the time," Will clarifies.

It's very clear that Nate has no idea what to say to that. "That's not… I just wanna know how I talk to her. That's all," Nate says nervously, laughing awkwardly at himself. "I can't even do that. It's hard and that's stupid 'cause it's just _talking_."

"So you wanna know the key to talking to girls then?" Will asks. They've crossed the street and they're in front of Starbucks, but neither one makes any move to go in. For once, Will is grateful for the threatening weather. There's no one else hanging around outside.

"Yeah," Nate says. His voice is quiet, a little shy, definitely anxious, and it only drives home what a great kid his little brother really is. This is as sweet and innocent as he can imagine any teenage boy ever being. "I mean, you're so good at that and any time I open my mouth near a girl - any girl - it feels like I'm gonna trip over my own tongue."

"The biggest thing you need to remember about talking to girls, Nate, is that you need to listen to them," Will tells him. "Conversation takes two people. Otherwise you're just talking at someone. Stop focusing so much on impressing her and start focusing on getting to know her."

It's clear from the look on his face that Nate's trying to internalize that, to make it fit his situation and figure out how he follows in his brother's footsteps. That's hard. Nate's a very different person than Will. But he's a good kid - a good young man, really - and Will has every faith that he'll figure out his own way. In time.

"Amelia likes zombies, all those end-of-the-world storylines. Doesn't matter if they're cheesy or not," Will offers up, surprising Nate. "And baseball, even if her taste in teams sucks. And singing. She cares about public access to healthcare and her Faith and her mom and her two best friends since college. I can talk to Amelia - I can be friends with her - because I know all of that about her. I can text her about her favorite band playing in town or teasing her that Comets lost or with some ridiculous meme about zombies. And I know how she'll react to all of that because I listen to her, because I know _her_."

Nate's quiet for a minute and Will feels awfully exposed. Laying everything out like that about Amelia, it hurts, sends a sweet pang of longing running through him. And he just wishes… he wishes he could… God, there are so many things. He can't even go down that road. He needs to kill those thoughts, find satisfaction in being her friend, even if he knows he'll never stop hoping for more.

"The Comets don't actually suck, you know," Nate says, breaking through his thoughts and leaving Will blinking at his little brother. "I know you wish they did, but they don't. Not as much as your precious Rockets, anyhow."

It's light, teasing, and it serves almost as a reset for the tone of their conversation because Will immediately puts his little brother in a headlock and gives him a noogie in spite of the loud " _HEY_!" that comes from Nate as he laughs and bats his brother's hands away.

"Punk kid," Will says affectionately as he lets Nate go.

He'll miss this, he realizes. In a year or two when Nate's way too tall to pull into a headlock, he'll miss it a lot. For all his love of his sisters, there's something different with him and Nate. He might be closest with Jules and he might absolutely adore Ellie and feel almost fatherly about Beth, but Nate's his only brother. There's something decidedly different about that and he relishes their relationship for what it is.

"Delusional old man," Nate grumbles back, shoving his shoulder as hard as he can while Will laughs uproariously.

"Old?" he asks. "I'm _old_?"

"Like dirt!" Nate asserts with a grin.

Those are fighting words and Nate winds up in a headlock again almost immediately, laughing and batting his brother's hand away as Will licks his finger and sticks it in his brother's ear.

" _Ewwww_ , Will! That's disgusting!" Nate protests through laughter, swatting at his brother's hand.

"Who's old now?" Will demands.

"I said _old_ not _grown-up_ ," Nate clarifies, giving up on stopping Will's hand and instead pushing at his torso as Will chuckles. Will relents mostly because he's just wildly amused and he wants to see Nate grinning.

The bean-pole of a boy shoves him hard as soon as he's let loose. As hard as he can, anyhow, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, not next to Will's bulk. But he's grinning even when he wrinkles his nose and rubs at his moistened ear.

"Growing up is overrated," Will tells him.

"You'd know," Nate counters. "Old man."

"Shut up, kid," Will grins. "Come on. I'll buy you a hot cocoa."

"What if I want a coffee?" Nate challenges as Will holds open the door to the Starbucks.

Will just blinks at him in amused disbelief. "Sprinkles and whipped cream?" he asks, as if the younger boy hadn't spoken at all.

"Yes, please. With chocolate sauce?" Nate requests.

"Sure, kid," Will agrees, smiling broadly at his brother, this boy straddling the line between childhood and adulthood, but doing it with a sweetness and grace that makes him all the more endearing. "Anything you want."


	51. October 2035

**October 2035**

Roy Harper doesn't sweat the small stuff. It wasn't always like that, of course. He vividly remembers the way anger used to surge up at the tiniest provocation, the way he took everything personally and turned the smallest of slights into a battle. But life's thrown him a few curveballs over the years and it's put things in a new perspective.

It's hard to get riled up if someone cuts him off without using their turn signal when Thea's next to him rubbing her own thighs with tremoring hands in an attempt to encourage some sense of feeling in her legs.

She'll even take pain over nothingness, these days.

Her whispered confession of that last month, when she finally gave up attempts to put off using her wheelchair full time, absolutely gutted him. He tries to be optimistic, tries to live in the moment with her and enjoy the happy slivers of their life together while they last, but it's hard. Such moments are fewer and fewer in recent months and he can't help the nagging thought that this just isn't _fair_ , that it shouldn't have happened, that she deserved so much better.

She's grown to be a whole lot more accepting of her reality than he has, though, so he tries not to linger on those thoughts. For her sake.

Usually that's enough to keep his grief for the life they could've had together at bay.

Sometimes, though… sometimes anger surges up from an unexpected place. Usually, that's because of Thea, too. People can be cruel - inadvertently or otherwise - to a woman whose body and physical abilities don't fit their definition of 'normal.' Roy cannot stand disrespect toward his wife. She is by far the strongest, most incredible person he's ever known and when people look at her and _only_ view her as a summation of her limitations… that is a surefire way to get Roy's hackles up.

But it's not the only way. No, taking advantage of his wife's kind heart and generous nature is way up there, too… as he's fast discovering today.

"What the hell, man?" the kid Roy's dragging along by his upper arm protests loudly. "Just call the cops or whatever. It's what you're gonna do anyhow, right? Use your high-and-mighty Queen money and connections to toss my ass behind bars and lose the key?"

And, _wow,_ this kid doesn't have a lick of self-preservation, does he?

Roy jerks to a stop and tugs the kid's arm a little tighter, locking gazes with him intensely. "Don't worry. The jail part's coming," he assures the little punk. "But first you're gonna look Thea square in the eye and tell her why you stole _nine thousand dollars_ from her charity."

If Roy weren't blinded by anger, he might have noticed the way the boy flinched at that idea, how his brows knit together a little tighter and his lips pressed together a little firmer. But he doesn't. He's too wrapped up in the idea of someone having the nerve to steal from his wife's charity. This is her legacy and she has devoted so much of her life to creating it, to ensuring that what she leaves behind is a force for good. Stealing from _that_ feels like the worst sort of violation.

Maybe it would be a little easier if the thief were someone else, a new face around the shelter, someone who _hadn't_ spent time hanging out with the younger kids or learning the basics of car repair from him. But Roy knows this punk, knows him pretty well, in fact. He likes to think himself a good judge of character, but boy did he miss the boat on this one.

Eric Lin had been trusted. He'd been a good kid in a rough spot, nineteen-years-old with just one relative - an elderly aunt - in his life and a barely-earned high school diploma. He'd had a chip on his shoulder, sure, but Roy had almost found that endearing. It'd sure as hell been familiar, anyhow. And he _had_ been asking a few questions around town, looking for a job for the kid at a reputable mechanic. But that's surely done now. Now, the only call Roy intends to make on his behalf is to the SCPD.

"That's a whole lot of Vertigo money," Roy points out. "You dealing?"

"No way, man," the kid scoffs, looking disgusted and more than a little beaten down as he scoffs and turns away. The cheap hallway lighting that Roy keeps meaning to tell maintenance to fix flickers, catching on dyed red streaks in the kid's hair. He probably thinks it makes him look edgy. Roy just thinks it makes him look young.

"You expect me to believe that?" Roy asks. "What else are you buying with nine grand?"

"Tickets to Disney World," Eric replies sarcastically. "Mind your own business."

"You stole from my _wife_ ," Roy hisses at him. "That is my business."

"Ain't like it's her money," Eric shrugs. False confidence rolls right off of him. He's a kid playing at being a grown up and it's beyond frustrating. Roy wants to smack him upside the back of his head and tell him what a dumbass he is. "Besides, it's not like she'd miss it. It's chump change to people like you."

There's a lot of irony in someone saying this to Roy Harper, who grew up with precisely nothing. But Eric doesn't know that. It's been decades since he lived the kind of life Eric does now and it's not something the teenager has ever seen.

"You think it's _less_ awful because you stole from charity than from her?" Roy asks in astonishment. "You know her better than that. This is gonna break her heart and I hate you for that, but it's on _you_ to tell her what you did because if I have to see her that upset, so do you."

"Whatever," Eric snaps with an annoyed curl of his lip. "Let's just get this over with."

Roy can't oppose that idea, so they continue down the hall to Thea's office. She doesn't use it that much these days, but they come in together a few times a week as she's able. Today hadn't been scheduled, but she'd felt better than usual after a doctor's appointment so they'd dropped in to see what fires needed to be put out. If they hadn't, Roy's not sure when they would've caught that someone stole from the foundation's car repair training fund. And they almost certainly wouldn't have found out _who_ did it. Not easily, anyhow. Not red-handed. Roy would've never expected that level of computer skills from Eric, for one thing.

So, he's glad they came in. But he's also really, really pissed that Thea needs to know about this. He'd much prefer she didn't.

But there's no avoiding it. He doesn't keep secrets from her.

Roy shoves the door to Thea's office open too hard and it bangs against the wall, rattling the pictures that line her office. Photos of fundraisers and community improvement projects nearly wallpaper it. More personal shots cover her desk - their trip to the Mediterranean two years ago, a childhood shot with her parents, snapshots of their nieces and nephews through the years, her brother and sister-in-law's wedding… it's a collage of her life just as the wall is a map of her life's work. The force of the door knocks over one of the frames on her desk and Roy can't help but think that's sort of appropriate, given the circumstances.

"I know we're going to be remodeling, but this is not what I had in mind," she says, eyeing him and Eric in turn. "What's this?"

Eric says nothing, sniffing instead and looking to the side with a tightly clenched jaw. He clearly has no intention of speaking up.

"Tell her," Roy orders, annoyance mounting quickly as he speaks. "Tell her what you did."

"We do what we gotta," Eric snaps, giving Roy a disdainful look. "That's all I'm saying. Just call the cops and get it over with."

"Woah," Thea says, her voice suddenly grave as she wheels her way around her desk and searches both of their faces. "Someone's going to need to tell me what's going on…. _Immediately_. I don't have all day... _Roy_?"

He really doesn't want to be the one who has to say it. That burden should be on Eric. But, Roy figures the kid's a thug and he clearly doesn't give a damn about doing the right thing, so he opens his mouth to answer. To his surprise… the kid man's up and cuts him off. Even if he's less than gracious about it.

"I lifted some cash from the garage," he fesses up. "'Kay? That's it. Can we go now?"

"You're awfully eager to see the inside of a jail cell," Roy snarks, tossing the kid a look before returning his gaze to Thea.

His snark kind of fades at the look on her face. Confusion and hurt slip across her features plain as day. Roy sees it. He's pretty sure Eric does, too.

"You _stole_ from us?" Thea asks. Eric tries to avoid either of their eyes, but she's seated well below him and Roy's right there at his side, so his only option is the wall lined with photos. Smiling faces of all the donors and volunteers shine back at him. It doesn't seem to suit him any better. "Why would you do that?"

Eric shrugs both shoulders stiffly and scrubs the backs of his knuckles against his nose. "You do what you gotta."

"You aren't even sorry, are you?" Roy asks in astonishment.

Eric's disaffected tough guy act isn't entirely convincing, but he sure as hell tries to keep it up. He gives Roy a disdainful glance and a quirk of his eyebrow before looking away again.

"Why did you have to?" Thea asks. Her voice is thoughtful, curious, and her question is something Roy definitely does not share. He doesn't give a damn why the kid swiped nearly five figures from the foundation, he only cares that he _did_. That money is there for a reason. It has designated purposes that will help a whole lot of people. And it definitely wasn't Eric's to take. For any reason.

But the teen doesn't answer anyhow. He's tight-lipped - both literally and figuratively - with his arms crossed in front of him as he taps one foot. It's a nervous gesture, Roy realizes, and not the impatient one he's trying to pretend it is.

"Eric," Thea prods again. "What on earth did you need that much money for?"

"He's not going to tell you," Roy tells her. "Doesn't matter. You know what it was for. You and I both know how it is with kids like him."

"Man, what the hell?" Eric asks, stepping back. "'Kids like me?' What the hell's that supposed to mean? Like you know me?"

"Hell yes, I know you," Roy counters. "I damned near _was_ you. I grew up in the Glades without a parent around. I remember what it was like on those streets and how many of my so-called friends fell into gangs or shot up so much they didn't know what sober looked like anymore."

"Drugs again with you," Eric tells him. The kid's clearly pissed, all red-faced and tightly coiled muscles. "After my brother died with a needle in his arm, you think I'm gonna use? I don't touch that shit."

"So, what did you-" Thea starts.

"I gotta bury my aunt, okay?" he snaps. Very, very suddenly he looks like a little boy playing at being a grown up. "You know what a funeral costs? She's the only person ever stood by me. I'll be damned if I can't even bury her. So you can toss my ass in prison and leave me there forever if you want, but I ain't ever gonna be sorry by trying to do her right."

The ticking of the clock on the wall is positively thunderous after that, filling the otherwise silent room.

"I know exactly what a funeral costs," Thea tells him quietly after a moment. Roy's whole body jerks at that statement, expressed so bluntly. It's painfully true. They don't talk about it much, but Roy knows full well that Thea began making arrangements for her own funeral years ago. It had been important to her - far be it from Thea Queen Harper to leave the details to someone else - but it still hurts so very badly to hear that stated aloud. "I didn't know your aunt had passed away. I know she was important to you. I'm sorry for your loss."

"She had a stroke," Eric says, shrugging like it's unimportant, even though it clearly is. "Didn't even make it to the hospital. Guess I'd be stealing a whole lot more if she had. That shit's expensive."

Thea sighs as she watches him for a moment. Roy's not sure what she's seeing, but he's not surprised in the least when she tilts her head toward a nearby pair of chairs and says "Take a seat. Both of you."

Roy does as she indicates, but cautiously says "...Thea." He's got a good idea of where her head's at - he should… they've been married long enough - and he's not sure it's the best move.

"Does he look like a repeat offender to you, Roy?" she asks, raising both eyebrows challengingly. "Eric, are you ever going to steal from anyone again?"

"Nah," Eric says, taking a seat. "Fresh out of family who might need funerals."

 _God_ , when he puts it that way… Roy sighs and gives his wife a hard but accepting look. She cheerily smiles back, delighted at having won the barely-spoken disagreement. She still does that, holds her head high and practically dances in her wheelchair in triumph when she wins any kind of a battle. It's so beautiful Roy can barely stand it. It's the core of who his wife is… a caring, competitive, detail-driven woman who can't stand losing an argument - any argument - and he loves her so much it makes his heart hurt.

He focuses on her. She focuses on Eric.

"You're going to put the money back," she tells him.

"I can't-"

"You _can_ ," Thea interrupts. "Because I'm going to pay for your aunt's funeral."

"...What?" he asks warily. Thea is already pulling her checkbook out - her literal checkbook, like anyone else uses those in 2035.

"Let's make it an even ten thousand," Thea suggests. Her hand shakes as she writes, but the words are legible. "Extra expenses tend to crop up. This is to the estate of…?"

"Jiao Lin," Eric tells her.

"Estate of Jiao Lin, care of Eric Lin," Thea repeats as she writes. Eric stares at the check like it might bite him when she hands it over.

"What's the catch?" he asks. "You gonna just give me ten grand?"

"No," Thea tells him primly, folding her hands across her lap. "I'm giving Jiao Lin ten grand. I'm giving you a job… if you want one."

"So, I gotta work this off then," Eric says.

"I already told you," Thea replies, sounding vaguely insulted. "That's not for you. It's for your aunt. I'm not expecting it to be paid back or worked off. I have money. I know what a burden someone's death can be-"

"Thea…" Roy interrupts warningly, his voice a whole lot thicker all of a sudden. She unclasps her hands to reach out and grab one of her husband's.

"It's _true_ , Roy," she tells him, unwilling to hide from the truth. "What if I hadn't been a Queen? What if we'd been dealing with _all_ of this without my family's money? I'd have died long ago. Put yourself in his shoes. How would you have buried me?"

He can see her point, but it's not something he wants to think about at all. And it surely doesn't absolve the boy of theft. At least, not in his eyes. But Thea seems ready to forget about it entirely. Then again, she's always been one to take matters into her own hands.

"I can't be here all the time," Thea says, looking back to Eric. "I don't have it in me anymore. But I still want to know everything that's going on, especially since I intend to have the center remodeled."

"There's no way I can do your job…" Eric says, looking back and forth between Thea and Roy.

"No, of course not," Thea agrees. "I have an executive director and a project manager and a general contractor. What I need is someone to be my eyes and ears, someone who people talk to, who really knows what this place needs. I think that could be you."

"I dunno…" Eric says, glancing down at the check. "I mean… if it's a choice. I'm not sure that's such a great plan."

"Of course it's a great idea," Thea scoffs. "It's mine."

Eric actually cracks a grin at that. "You've always been real nice to me," he acknowledges. "And I like you Mrs. Harper. But I'm not much of an errand boy."

"Do you have a better suggestion?" she challenges. "Because I know for a fact you haven't even been showing up for interviews the foundation's set up for you."

"What?" Roy asks, looking at his wife.

"I was going to tell you later," Thea sighs, rolling her eyes. "I got two calls today from mechanic shops where he was a no show. Eric… was that because of your aunt?"

"Nah," Eric denies. "Just seems… I dunno, kinda useless. It's not like they'd hire me anyhow."

"Well they definitely won't now," Thea deadpans. "I'm not offering you an interview. I'm offering you a job. Double minimum wage. Full time. With benefits. You'd coordinate with the executive director and the general contractor, but report directly to me. The only thing I ask is full and complete honesty… and that you join us for dinner once a week."

Eric gives her a weird look at that, but Roy had already seen this coming. His wife has always had a need to save people - Queen family trait he supposes - but he thinks that's gotten more pronounced since she's realized she won't be able to save herself.

"You gonna turn down a good meal?" Thea challenges. "I don't do top ramen, you know."

Roy snorts at that. _No_ , no she does not. Thea, at least in terms of her taste buds, can be a bit of a snob.

"Lady, I don't even turn down a free meal from Taco Bell," Eric tells her with a short, nervous laugh. "I think you're crazy, but I'm not dumb enough to turn that down."

"Glad to hear it," Thea announces smugly. "We can start Monday. I'll meet you here to outline some more specifics of what I'm looking for and then we'll have dinner on… do Thursday nights work?"

"Yeah, sure," Eric nods.

"Excellent. I'll have my driver pick you up from here on Thursdays at five, then," she decides. "Until then… have a wonderful day."

Eric's somewhat stunned, looking back and forth between Roy and Thea for a moment until he finally asks. "That mean you aren't callin' the cops?"

"You can't very well work for me if you're in jail," Thea points out, like he's being absurd. "And anyhow… what theft? The money will be back by the end of the day, right?"

"...Yeah," Eric nods slowly, rising to his feet. "Yeah, it will. I'm just gonna…" He gestures with his thumb toward the door.

"Have a nice rest of your day," Thea tells him in a clear dismissal.

"Same," he agrees, nodding once before heading out the door.

Roy waits all of four seconds after the door shuts before he shakes his head at his wife and sighs.

"Go ahead and say it," she demands. "I know you're going to anyhow. Might as well get this over with."

"Thea, I'm not even sure where to start," Roy says bluntly.

"My guess was gonna be with me giving more money away to a thief than what he took from us in the first place. Or, possibly, me hiring him for what could turn out to be a very sensitive position even though he stole a small fortune earlier today," she muses.

"Both of those work," Roy agrees. "But I was gonna say the kid didn't even say _thank you_. He didn't so much as shake your hand."

"He needs guidance, Roy," she insists. "He needs people who care about him in his life, not a jail cell."

"He's not a pet you can just adopt," Roy tells her.

"Of course not," Thea scoffs. "He's a boy who's alone and angry and lacks direction in the world. He _needs_ people. He needs a good influence in his life."

"You think he's gonna let that person be you?" Roy questions.

"No, Roy," she laughs. "Honey… I think he's gonna let that person be _you_."

It's probably for the best that Roy was sitting because you could have knocked him over with a feather at that statement. He had very much not seen _that_ coming.

"He hates me," Roy tells her.

"Mmmm," she hums. "Teenagers _do_ love to give that impression, don't they?"

"Thea…"

"He's _you_ , Roy!" she says, tossing her hands in the air. "He's you twenty years ago and you're who he could be twenty years from now. He needs someone who has walked in his shoes who can show him that life doesn't always have to be like that. That it can be better. He needs a mentor. And Roy… honey… we've made a little difference in a whole lot of lives. Before my time is done, I'd like for us to make a great big difference in at least one."

Roy can't hold her gaze at that and he doesn't even try, instead looking down to where she's gone back to holding his hand.

"You've got time," Roy mutters after a moment.

"Not much," she replies bluntly. "A year. Maybe two. Everyone has failed this kid. Let's change that for him."

Roy does look back up at Thea at that, his heart breaking both for the starkly spoken honest assessment of her health and for the words he's about to say. "We can't be his parents, Thea. I wish… I wish we'd had that opportunity at some point, for some kid. But that couldn't happen before and it can't happen now, either."

"We don't have to be his parents to be his family," Thea points out. "His aunt was his last relative. He needs _someone_ , Roy. People who will look out for him and have his best interests at heart. Why not us?"

There is no doubt how Roy will answer this question. Perhaps there never has been. He has never been very good at turning his wife down and he surely won't for something that means as much to her as this clearly does.

"Well," he says. "I guess we'd better find out what he likes for dinner other than Taco Bell, then."


	52. March 2035

**March 2035**

It's not that Felicity's never panicked before. Will's certain that she has. When his sisters were kidnapped, when that first Ellie had been in danger, countless times his dad has been in the field. But he's never _seen_ it before. Not like this. And the sight of it is enough to send a torrent of fear racing through his veins.

Because it's a _rarity_. Because her shaking hands and thready breaths and ashen face mean something.

"So Digg and Lyla aren't options," Will recaps as his stepmother paces back and forth in front of her computer, her hand pressed to her mouth. "What about Roy?"

"He and Thea left for Aruba yesterday," Felicity replies from behind her hand. She sounds like she might throw up.

"Okay," Will says, ticking off options in his head. "How about Barry? Or Big Sara? Or Nyssa? "

"Barry's unconscious. Nyssa and Sara unreachable. I already tried," Felicity says, sitting heavily in her desk chair and pressing her head into her hands. "Oh my god…"

"Felicity," Will says sharply, kneeling down in front of her and taking both of her hands. "We will figure this out. Dad will be okay. We've got this."

She nods, clearly wanting to believe him. But after a long moment searching his eyes she quietly, brokenly asks, "How?" Will finds he doesn't have an answer.

"Me."

It's Ellie's voice and Will damned near chokes on the word " _No_ " as he turns to look at his baby sister. She looks the part, or at least she's trying to. Stance wide, chin held high, she's all decked out in a dark leather jacket and pants, a domino mask in her hands.

She tries so hard to be grown up, wants so desperately to be this person she's decided she's destined to be. It's been a source of frustration for her parents for the last couple of years and it's only getting worse.

"No," Will protests louder, drawing up to his full height and pointing a finger at the girl. "You are _sixteen_."

"This is my dad," she protests. "I'm not going to sit here and just let them-"

" _Elizabeth_ ," Felicity cuts her off, looking at her daughter with red-rimmed eyes and no color at all to her face. Will can count on the fingers of one hand how many times he's heard Ellie called by her full first name and it definitely has the desired effect. "Don't you _dare_ do this to me right now. I can't lose..."

Her voice trails off as she slams her eyes shuts and chokes back a sob, casting her face toward the ceiling. Nate, who's been sitting staring angrily at floor tiles like maybe his gaze could could burn right through them, moves to his mother's side and wraps an arm around her. Will can't even begin to wonder at what's going on in his little brother's head, but that's for later anyhow, after this is all over.

"You can't lose both of us," Ellie concludes, her voice an accusation. "That's what you were going to say right? Well, _I can't lose him_. He's my dad. And I refuse to just sit here while no one even-"

"I've got it," Will announces. A strange sense of resolve sets over him as he squares his shoulders and strides across the room purposefully. He hates this. He hates everything about it and he's beyond terrified. But doing nothing would be worse. And trying to head Ellie off as she barrels head-first into danger, making the situation _more_ dangerous, sounds panic-inducing. So this… this is just how it has to be. It has to be him.

"What are you talking about?" Ellie wonders aloud, her voice trailing after him.

It's not until he stops in front of the case that holds his father's suit and reaches to undress the mannequin that Ellie sucks in a wild breath of understanding.

"You can't! _William_ ," Felicity shouts. It comes out near a sob and it only further steels his resolve.

"I don't have a choice," Will tells her. He doesn't look back as he shrugs his way into his father's jacket. It fits poorly.

"We will _find_ another way," Felicity insists. He can hear her scrambling toward him, but he doesn't turn, instead heading to the nearby bathroom with leather pants and boots in hand. He shuts it behind himself and locks it before Felicity gets close, but that doesn't keep her from continuing her pleas. "Will, honey. Your dad would not want you putting yourself in danger for him."

He'd been in a hurry - every second matters in situations like this - but he pauses undoing his jeans and lets out a wet laugh at his stepmother's attempt to dissuade him.

"I know," he admits, continuing changing into a persona that is not his own. "That's why I have to do this. Twenty years… twenty years my dad has been there for me without question every single time I've needed him. I remember what it was like before I met him, all the daydreams I had about my father. He single-handedly blew them all away. What kind of a man, what kind of a _son_ would I be if I weren't there for him the one time he needed me?"

"The kind who knows his father values his safety above his own. Will, you aren't trained for this," Felicity implores, her voice dulled by the door.

"Sure I am," Will counters, zipping up the worn leather pants and slipping his feet into the boots. Filling his father's shoes had never been a phrase he'd taken literally until now, but he finds no humor in the irony that they're a half size too big. "Dad made sure of it," he continues. "I can pull off looking like him. And I can hold my own in a fight. And when I find him, I've been trained for…"

He can't finish that thought, not aloud and not in his own head. He has seen a great many traumatic incidents over the last few years. But none of them have been his father.

"Whatever they've done to him… Honey, you shouldn't have to see your dad like that," Felicity manages to say. He barely hears her voice through the door.

Will doesn't answer right away, though. He's too distracted by the image staring back at him in the mirror. It's heart-poundingly terrifying, but here he is… fully decked out in his father's suit. He feels like a kid playing dress-up but he sure doesn't look it.

It's with a sense of awe that he puts on his father's mask and stares at his own blue eyes - so like his father's - staring back at him.

This isn't him, but the weight of the suit sits heavily anyhow. His father's life, reputation and legacy all sit squarely on his shoulders. And, for all the times he's refused to take life seriously, this is far from a joke to him. He understands the pressure he's under right now, the responsibility he's willingly burdened himself with. Maybe it's the gravity of the situation tightening the lines of his face and hardening his gaze, but he looks more like his father than he could have ever expected.

"Will… are you even hearing me?" Felicity's question is a dull buzz in the back of his head and he realizes he's not sure what she's said.

"Yeah…" he lies before taking a fortifying breath and turning to open the door.

In spite of knowing what he'd been doing, Felicity stumbles a few feet backward with wide eyes and a hand pressed to her mouth at the sight of him. She looks like she's seen a ghost.

" _Oh my god_ ," she whispers behind her palm. Her hand can't muffle the sob it's caging and there's no masking the tears that well up in her eyes, spilling over the edges to stain her cheeks.

It's enough to make Will question himself.

"How do I look?" he asks nervously, smoothing down the leather jacket needlessly.

The sound she makes sounds more like a pained moan than anything else and when her hand falls away from her face, she opens her mouth several times before speaking.

"Like a hero," she tells him. It's gritty, a half sob and half laugh, and he feels sure there's some story he's not privy to. "But Will, sweetheart," she continues, "you always have been."

It strikes him suddenly - again - how tremendously lucky he is to have Felicity in his life. His father has surpassed all of his childhood expectations for a dad, but he'd never even _had_ any for a stepmother. That she's chosen, unfailingly, to love him, to count him as one of her children, as a vital part of her family… well, it surely makes her a hero in his book, too. But he's not sure how to tell her that. He's _never_ been sure how to tell her that. So, instead he holds her face with both hands and presses his lips to her forehead.

She clings to the jacket when he releases her, a wet wracking sob shuddering through her whole body. How much of that is for him and how much is for his father, he has no idea.

"Take care of her," Will orders his little brother.

"Of course I will," Nate asserts, more seriously than any twelve-year-old has ever been. On a normal day, Will would probably be trying to get him to lighten up. Not today.

"Ellie-" he starts, turning toward his sister.

"I'm going with you," she announces.

"No," he counters. "You aren't. I'm not good enough in the field and neither are you. It would make things more dangerous."

"That's _bullshit_ ," Ellie snaps. "You know that's bullshit. You just want me to sit here while my dad-"

"Yes," Will snaps. "I want you to sit here and be support for your mom. I want you to call Jules and tell her what the hell is going on. I want you to be there for my baby sister for me in case all of this goes sideways-" He tries to ignore the way Felicity starts all out sobbing at that. "And I want you, Ellie, to take the time you need to grow into the hero you want to become. That's not now. You're not ready yet. And you know it. So be my backup _here_ tonight. That's what I need from you. You got it?"

He's not sure what part of his little speech got through to her, but Ellie nods slowly, finally backing down.

"You're kinda imposing in that thing, you know?" she asks, wrapping her arms around herself and skimming her eyes down his costumed form. It really _does_ feel like a costume.

"Just wait til I try the voice modulator," he replies, trying to interject just the slightest bit of levity into the moment. He flips the hood up as he speaks and moves to grab his father's bow and quiver. Somehow, it seems heavier than he'd expected.

"Will… please…" Felicity says in a tiny voice. He glances her way and finds Nate is half supporting her, but her eyes are dry, even if her cheeks are tear-strewn. "I want you to bring him home to me. But if you can't… If you can't, you need to make sure you get yourself back safely. Okay? I _love_ your father. I always will. No matter what. But you're our son. And I need you to come back in one piece."

It's a simple request and one he takes seriously. There is very real danger in what he's about to do, not just from his father's captors but from any number of other criminals in the streets who might have a grudge against The Arrow. Nothing about this life is easy - one of many reasons he would never choose it for himself - but it is important. Will knows that down to his core.

"Until I take off this mask again, I'm The Arrow," he tells her. "And The Arrow does not miss his mark. I will get my father home. And I will be with him to hand him back his mask."

He sounds more certain than he feels and something about his voice seems to ring true with everyone else in the room. Nate's looking at him like he trusts him - which is new for today - and Ellie stares with barely disguised awe while Felicity looks like someone just threw her a lifeline. She needs this, Will realizes. She needs to believe that everything will be alright, that there's _hope_.

"You okay on the comms?" he asks his stepmother.

She nods, visibly gathering herself together. "Yes. Yeah. You can count on me," she says, forcing a smile.

"Not sure what The Arrow would be without Overwatch," he grins. "Let's do this."

Ultimately, he's still a little surprised that Ellie doesn't follow, but she doesn't and he's grateful. If he were worried about his sister and his dad _and_ himself… Well, that just seems like a recipe for disaster. Being alone is infinitely more manageable. He can see why it had been his dad's preference back at the start.

With his stepmother in his ear, Will guides his father's motorcycle through city streets. He's more cautious than his dad on the bike. Motorcycle accidents are the worst. Firsthand knowledge of that changes things and recklessness on the road is definitely no longer in his nature. But still… he's aware it probably looks really weird when The Arrow stops for red lights. It's definitely a total shock to the family in the minivan next to him anyhow.

He gives the kids in the back a tight smile and waves a little awkwardly at them.

Of course then the kid nearest the window tries to take a _selfie_ with him in the background. Thank goodness the kid uses the flash. There's no way he'll be identifiable. But, he still tugs his hood down a bit lower anyhow.

"How's it going?" Felicity asks in his ear.

"Starting to see why The Arrow isn't much a fan of following traffic laws," he mutters back. "Got any additional intel for me?"

"Working on it." It's Ellie's voice on the other end of the comms and Will finds himself blinking in surprise as the light changes and he zooms ahead, leaving the minivan behind. "Mo… I mean, Overwatch is trying to trace some thingy to the place where it came from."

" _Thingy_?" Will asks, completely unable to hide his amusement in spite of the situation.

"Like I know what it's called?" she scoffs in reply. He can practically see the way she's screwing up her face in typical judgemental teenage fashion. "Some kind of data packet or… I dunno, signal or something. Whatever it's called. Overwatch is on it."

They know his dad is being held somewhere in the industrial district near the train tracks, so Will cuts up an alley to avoid the traffic heading to the 'burbs and guides the bike toward the less populated part of town.

"If you're on the comms, then _you're_ Overwatch right now, you know," he points out.

There's a little huff of noise on the other end of the line as Ellie blows some air through her lips. "No pressure or anything there," she replies with a tight laugh.

"Try being the one behind the mask," Will replies dryly as this bike rockets out from the alley and he curves to run parallel to the train tracks that border the east side of town.

"I'd love to. Wanna trade?" Ellie asks, her voice glib and light.

Will doesn't even bother responding. He just shakes his head and hunkers down, keeping his profile low as he zips along the pot-hole strewn pavement lining the tracks, doing his best to weave around the divots in the ill-repaired roadway.

Once upon a time, the trains had been the lifeblood of this city. These days, they're barely in use. Shipping and air cargo dominated freight decades ago and trains are few and far between in the 30s. There's been talk of revamping the whole thing, building a high speed rail to National City and Gotham - bullet trains that carry passengers at incredible speeds - but that's a debate as old as Will is. The expense is huge and the transportation department has yet to get funding for it. So, for now, the tracks mostly lay silent… a haven for those who'd prefer to go unnoticed.

Like the Irish mob.

Despite losing several head honchos to The Arrow over the years, the Irish mob has proven itself incredibly resilient, moving in on territory once ruled by the Triad. Organized crime might be lower than it had been when Will was a kid, but it's always felt like it's still roiling just beneath the surface, waiting to bubble up through cracks whenever the situation presents itself.

The Bratva have barely been more than an annoyance to the city and the Italians have had too many internal problems to be much of a threat for _years_. But the Irish… the Irish are another story entirely. His father has kept them in check, rounding up new leaders of the organization just as soon as they've started cementing their power. It was always just a matter of time before they struck back.

The Arrow might have been ready for that. Oliver Queen had not.

Will's father is hyper-aware of his surroundings, an incredible fighter, a tactically creative man, but he is still just a man and he is not invincible.

He'd been grabbed in broad daylight leaving his office at the capital for lunch, in front of too many shocked bystanders to count. It had been fast, too fast for the capital police. And, judging by the video footage of his father's limp form when they'd tossed him into the back of an unmarked van, he'd been dosed with some kind of tranquilizer right off the bat.

Will grits his teeth and grips the handlebars of his father's bike harder at the thought of his dad rendered helpless in the face of his adversaries. Then again, the Irish mob has never been known for playing fair.

They're lucky, in some ways, that he'd been brought back to Starling. Any kind of rescue attempt would have been a hell of a lot harder had they kept him in the capital. But Oliver Queen's kidnapping had been intended as both a message and a test.

" _We think you're The Arrow_ ," they're saying. " _If no one comes to rescue you here in Starling, we'll know for sure. And as incentive, we're going to make you scream until he comes or until you have no more breath left in your body_."

The television broadcast they'd hijacked had been a _little_ more subtle than that, but not by much. And it had been more than enough to send Felicity into a frenzy of increasingly desperate phone calls to every ally they'd ever had. But there was no one. Not this time. This time, it's down to Will behind the mask and Felicity and Ellie on the comms guiding him.

He can do this, he tells himself. He _can_ because there's no other option he's willing to consider.

When Felicity pops back onto the line a moment later with specific directions and details about security, Will's all ears as he tries to ready himself for the most important rescue of his life.

"Got it," he relays. "Be ready to call SCPD. I don't trust them to save dad, but I'm also not gonna hang around to fight off the mob once I've got him."

"We've got 'em on speed dial," Felicity assures him. "Literally, actually. There are some advantages to your mother-in-law basically handing the mayoral seat to a woman who just-so-happens to be married to the deputy chief of police."

There is that, Will acknowledges privately. He might find the mayor needlessly abrasive and her husband blander than unseasoned bread crumbs, but they're allies anyhow. And those are in short order these days.

"I'll be right here with you the whole time, Arrow," Felicity tells him a little quieter. There are nerves in her voice, but her backbone is made of solid steel and he knows no matter what happens he'll have her support in his ear, helping keep him safe.

"Copy that, Overwatch," he smiles. But the thin line of lips even out a moment later when he realizes how close he is to his destination and pulls the bike into an alley near the address Felicity had given him. Killing the engine, he dismounts and takes his father's bow in hand.

It's not his best weapon - not by a longshot - and he suspects he'll wind up using more hand-to-hand than anything else, but it's necessary for the illusion, for the persona he needs to carry off. He can't hit the bullseye consistently, but he _can_ hit the target nearly all of the time. Weekly training sessions with his father had ensured that much, anyhow. But Will's strength lies in close-in combat. He can throw a punch with the best of them, has been a good match for his father for years, beating him more than once. And if you put a bat in his hands… well, all those years of baseball and constant physical training at work definitely give him an edge.

"You should have trick arrows in the quiver," Felicity's voice informs him. She's probably watching on some nearby surveillance camera. She's _probably_ reading every thought he has right now that's written across his face. "Take stock of your inventory before you make a move. You need to know everything you can use to your advantage."

It's good advice and Will unshoulders the quiver to check what he has on hand. A dozen normal arrows, it seems, along with a grappling hook, two flash grenades, two smoke bombs, an explosive arrow, and a computer virus injection arrow. The last won't do much for him today, but the others all might.

If he can just get in, grab his dad and get out… Well, that would be ideal for sure. He's not interested in taking on the whole of the Irish mob on his own. That's beyond him and he knows it.

"Don't be concerned with playing fair," Felicity's voice adds. "Use every advantage you have and do not hesitate to kill them if you have to. Do you understand me? I don't want that for you. I don't want that for _any_ of you. It's a horrible burden to live with. But if it comes down to your life or some mobster's…"

"I understand," Will agrees solemnly. And he does, but he's also not sure he can do that, willingly take a life. He's devoted his entire career to saving people. If had to kill someone… well, he's just not sure he could do it. It's too counter to who he is. But he's not going to tell Felicity that. "Guide me in," he says instead.

She does, directing him to the rooftop of a nearby warehouse. It looks like something straight out of a movie with foggy single-pane windows and worn red brick. There's a giant weathered skylight on the rooftop and through it Will can just barely make out a half dozen men surrounding a figure chained to the floor.

His father. That's his father. And he's moving.

Thank god.

"I've got eyes on him," Will announces, a surge of adrenaline hitting his bloodstream. "He's alive."

The strained noise of relief that Felicity makes speaks volumes about how worried she'd been. There's enough panic and fear surrounding this evening and it won't be letting up anytime soon. But at least he can give her this, the assurance that his father, her husband, is still breathing. The rooftop glass is old and marred by years of wear, but it's definitely his dad down there and it only redoubles Will's drive to be his father's hero for once, to get him to safety and put all of this behind them.

As fast as possible.

"Six of them?" Will asks, trying to gauge precisely how far up he is. Two stories, he figures. That's nothing to his father, but it's a hell of a drop in his eyes. Still… the front door is clearly not an option.

"Heat sensor shows seven, I think," Felicity corrects him. "Plus the captive. One of the guys is on a catwalk. Can you see it?"

Will crouches down, leather pants squeaking as it rubs against itself. Sure enough, there he is, the seventh man he'd completely missed, pacing alongside a railing on the upper level that he hadn't even known was there. It could've been a deadly mistake. Instead, Will thinks it's turned into a tactical advantage.

"Got him," Will confirms. "I'm going in."

"Aim true, brother," Ellie's voice rings out in his ear.

It's a wish and a declaration all rolled into one and a smile paints itself across Will's face before he takes aim and lets loose his first arrow of the night.

A riotous crash of glass rains down on the thugs below and it's only a heartbeat before they've swung their guns upwards, pointing toward the newly-made entrance Will's has carved into their building. But Will is faster. Years of his father's lessons run through his mind like a record on replay. He can hear his dad's voice perfectly saying " _If you think you're going to fail, you will every time_ " and " _Commit, son. Follow-through. Moments of hesitation are when we lose our advantage."_

With that in mind, his first arrow had been a grappling hook, the line shooting through the glass and sinking into the wall just behind the thug on the upper level. Refusing to look down - fear of heights isn't really his thing, but a half dozen semi-automatics pointing up at him is another matter entirely - he zips along the line full-speed, his oversized boots slamming into the mobster on the upper floor and knocking him back with brutal force that leaves him down for the count.

Part of Will, the part that was raised by his mother and nurtured by Felicity and praised by his father, wants to stop and check if the man is breathing, wants to apologize and ask if he's okay. He doesn't, of course. He pauses only to assess the man as a threat - " _When you take someone down, you need to make sure he stays that way_ ," his father's voice echoes in his memory. That's only part of why he doesn't check if the man's still alive, though. He also isn't entirely sure he wants to know.

Bullets clang off the railing in front of him and it sets a spike of adrenaline through his veins the likes of which Will has never felt before. It's come close at work sometimes. He's been in life or death situations before, given what he does, but he's never been a _target_. He's never had people trying to kill him, to hunt him, and that gives a whole new dimension to his fear.

Scrambling along the length of the catwalk, he intentionally backs himself into a corner near a steampipe. One of the gunmen hits it, sending a fog-like spray of hissing steam out in front of him. The sudden heat and humidity is uncomfortable in the leather suit, making it stick to his skin, but the benefits of being obscured far outweigh that.

"You have failed," he growls down at the mobsters through the gritty effect of his father's voice modulator.

They look terrified at the sound of his voice and for the first time, in spite of the fact that it's one against six at the moment, Will feels like he has the advantage.

His father, however… his father looks like everything is clicking into place and the blood drains from his face in a visible way as reality sets in.

"No," he insists, wrenching against his chains. "Get out of here!"

Like there was a chance of that. There's blood smeared across his mouth and his shirtless chest is covered in fresh bruises and stained with more blood. His wrists look raw where he's chained, but he struggles against them anyhow, driven by instinct and terror on behalf of his oldest child.

One of the mobsters throws an elbow into Oliver's face. "Keep yer mouth shut, you worthless sack of shite," he says, spitting at him. "Bait don't get to have much of an opinion, do it?"

The anger that boils up within Will is a little terrifying. If he'd been confident that he wouldn't hit his father, he might have shot that man. Instead, he settles for scooping up a spare pipe just sitting on the ground and sticks it into the quiver. Man, does that feel like luck. He's a million times better with a bat or a staff or a _pipe_ than he'll ever be with an arrow. And, after a brief display with a bow, he feels like his identity is cemented in the kidnappers' eyes.

"You wanted me?" he calls down. "Looks like you got the wrong man."

"Call it a bonus," the largest of the men say, stepping forward. "Effective bait and a few good licks on the bastard gutting our business in the senate. Can't say as I'm seeing much of a downside."

"Release him, or you will," Will threatens in the darkest voice he can muster. It takes very little effort.

The man laughs. "It's a joke, yeah? You're jokin' with me," he declares, looking at his remaining henchmen, who all laugh obediently. "Arrow or not, there's one o' you an' six of us. I like my odds."

"Too bad your math is so terrible," Will counters. "Looks like two on six to me." The confused looks on their faces last only as long as it takes to draw back the bow. There has never been a shot that has mattered more in Will's entire life. Luckily, there's also never been a moment he was more focused.

" _Release between breaths_ ," his father's voice rings out in his memory. " _Don't drop your arm when you let go. Like baseball, Buddy. Or basketball. Follow through with the shot just like you would a ball_."

The explosive arrow he lets loose flies through the air and Will doesn't move, doesn't _breathe_ until it lands. Because if he misses… if he misses all of this will be going a very different way.

But he doesn't.

The arrow wedges itself right into the latch chaining his father to the ground. It takes only an instant for Oliver to recognize the blinking light and in that split second, he turns away and ducks down, covering his head.

A heartbeat later, the room explodes.

Or, that's what it seems like anyhow.

Two of the mobsters are knocked clear off their feet and one slams the wall hard enough he dislocates his shoulder, taking him out of the fight. _All_ of them are temporarily blinded.

But Oliver's not. No… he's incredibly aware. And incredibly livid. But he's made even moreso when one of the thugs takes a blind shot at Will up on the catwalk. The bullet doesn't hit him, exactly, but it does graze the upper part of his arm, tearing the suit and drawing blood.

It's more startlement than anything else that makes Will cry out.

"Will!" Felicity's panicked voice calls out sharply over the comms, completely disregarding the use of any code name.

"I'm fine," he reassures her. "Just a scratch. I swear."

"My version of a scratch or your father's?" she demands. "Because these are very different things."

In spite of the situation, Will has to fight back a smile. "Mine," he tells her. "I'll be fine, I promise. Going silent for a bit. This might get messy."

A quick assessment of the room tells him that he's absolutely right. While the shock of pain of the barely-there bullet wound is mild and fleeting, his father clearly doesn't know that. Or, maybe it's that he just doesn't care. Severely hurt or not, someone shot and hit his kid and Will is well aware at precisely how well that will sit with his dad.

Oliver Queen is The Arrow with or without the suit, Will decides quickly. He must be, because the sheer power and fury that guides his controlled movements could come from no one else.

He's not tethered to the floor anymore, but the chains still encircle Oliver's wrists and ankles. They no longer make him a prisoner, though. No, they've shifted purpose, become a weapon.

Violent fury and righteous anger coil in Oliver's muscles and, heedless of his own injuries, completely disregarding his own well-being, Oliver Queen rains down pain and terror on his captors the likes of which they could never have expected.

Three of them make a break for it, racing for the door. The chain attached to the manacle on Oliver's left wrist sweeps all of their feet out from under them, sending them sprawling across the floor. But his motion is so fluid, so continuous that it's nearly hypnotic.

He looks like Jules, Will realizes. Between the fluid grace of his one-man-battle and the use of the chains like whips - always Jules' favorite weapon - he looks like his older daughter. It's not a likeness Will's ever seen before and it's startling.

And, like Jules, he doesn't seem keen to back down anytime soon. In fact, he's honed his attention in on the mobster who'd taken a shot at Will and his eyes look as murderous as Will's ever seen.

Will hops over the railing, swinging down to the lower level to join the fray. Half of this is to serve as backup for his father, but it's equally to show him that he's actually fine.

Of the six men they started with on the ground floor, two have fled the building, one is wailing in pain grabbing his shoulder, and another is unconscious, leaving just two men they need to deal with. One, Oliver has pressed to the wall with a chain pressed against his windpipe. The other… well, the other seems to have escaped his father's attention.

That's unusual - _unheard_ of, even, and later Will will wonder if his dad had just trusted him to take care of the additional threat. Either way, Will doesn't hesitate to step in. He's there in an instant, metal pipe in hand swatting away the man's gun before trading blows that quickly prove him a better fighter than the mobster.

It's more like training than fighting, like he's back in the basement gym at the Brownstone running drills with his dad and sisters and brother. He's all action and reaction, a series of well-practiced moves that are as fluid as they are ingrained in his being.

His dad had prepared him for this. He'd prepared him for _exactly_ this, he realizes, a bit stunned to realize that his father has lived with the fear of him and his siblings being kidnapped or attacked as a viable, terrible likelihood for their entire lives. Deep down, he's known that for some time. But the reality of it, _seeing_ that eventuality come to life is a lot to process. And his father… well at the moment his father looks nothing at all like the man who taught him to drive and soothed away his nightmares, doesn't even resemble the gentle man who held him when his mother died and looks at his stepmother with the softest gaze that Will's ever seen. No. No, right now he is not that man. He's not even the Arrow. This kind of fury predates that. Right now, he's the Hood and Will expects him to start snapping necks any moment.

It goes against the grain of who Will is to hurt people, even mobsters who probably intended to torture his dad to death. He has to swallow back his own reservations as he strikes the thug squarely across his jaw with the metal pipe. The man screams in pain and grabs at his face, but he's only more angry, more dedicated to causing damage so the fight can't end there. Will locks the pipe beneath the man's arm and gives it a sharp, solid wrench until there's a cracking noise and a tremendous howl of agony.

Even mobsters throw up and pass out from pain eventually. Will feels tremendously guilty about it, but he also can't quite bring himself to regret his actions. The man had been pointing a gun at his father, after all, and his dad is infinitely more important.

"You think you can shoot at him?" Oliver is growling right into the mobster's ear. He's pressing so hard with the chains at the man's windpipe that he's turning purple, save for the whitened skin directly around the metal. "You don't _ever_ threaten my-"

"Senator!" Will snaps, cutting him off. God, the last thing they need is the Irish mob thinking Senator Queen's son is the Arrow. It could be easily disproven, of course, but it would also make Will a target in the short term. And the moment Oliver made that link to the man - the instant he finished that sentence - it would ensure the mobster never left this warehouse alive. The Arrow hasn't killed in decades. But that streak would end the moment Oliver Queen decided it was necessary to save any one of his children. Of that, Will has no doubt.

Oliver blinks at Will like there's a fog clearing from his vision. He takes stock of his son's well-being with a note of silent relief.

"Is he okay?" Felicity's voice asks quietly in Will's ear.

"We're both fine," Will assures her. His dad seems to settle a little more as he realizes who must be on the other end of the line. "You make that call yet?"

"Being made as we speak," she tells him.

Will nods and locks eyes with his father. "We need to get out of here. The police are on their way."

Oliver grimaces, his lips twisting in a frustrated tight line, but he releases the chain from the man's neck. The mobster instinctively tries to suck in a huge breath of air, but he struggles and Will's already mentally making a diagnosis. Collapsed trachea, he's almost sure of it. His struggles bring no sympathy from Oliver, though, who slams his elbow into the wheezing man's temple, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

"Let's go," he announces roughly, looking at Will as he squats down to grab a key for his own shackles from the gasping man's pocket. He frees himself in short order and rubs at his own wrists with a wince.

"Bike's this way," Will tells him with a tilt of his head.

The distant wail of sirens prompts them both to speed up a bit and they both navigate their way out of the building - still wary of the two thugs who might've escaped to find reinforcements. They're nowhere to be found, though, and likely would've been scared off by the sirens even if they were nearby. So, Oliver and Will make their way to the bike with ease.

"You okay?" Will asks, giving his father a sideways glance and surveying the bruising and cuts littering his torso.

"All surface wounds," Oliver assures him. "I'll be fine."

"I'm checking your ribs when we get back," Will informs him.

"They're bruised, not broken," his dad says.

"Humor me," Will says dryly.

"Fine," Oliver says, stopping and crossing his arms as he looks at his son. "I will, if you let me check out your arm."

"It's nothing," Will scoffs, glancing at his bicep. "A little neosporin and a bandage, you won't even know it happened in a few days."

"Believe me," his father says darkly. "I will know."

"Dad," Will sighs.

"You shouldn't have come," his father tells him. "I appreciate the rescue, but you don't belong behind that mask."

Despite wholly agreeing with him, a skewer of annoyance spears through Will. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he says dryly.

"William," his dad says, giving him a warning look.

"Whatever, Dad," he bites back. "If you think we were just going to sit there in the lair and watch newsfeeds of them torturing you to death without doing anything about it, you're nuts."

"The SCPD-" Oliver starts.

But Will cuts him off. "The SCPD couldn't save a kitten trapped in a tree and you know it!" he snaps. "They'd have stormed that building and it would've been a bloodbath. You don't want me in a mask? Great. Neither do I. But I want to attend your funeral even less, so can we just chalk this up to a really fucking terrible day and get back to the lair?"

"Sure. Fine," Oliver agrees. "Get on the bike so we can go."

"You want _me_ to drive?" Will asks in surprise. It's his father's motorcycle after all.

"I have three bruised ribs, open wounds and no shirt," Oliver laughs darkly. "I'd rather not have you holding onto me right now, no offense."

It's a fair point and Will mounts the bike, his father joining behind him a moment later before they take off toward the lair. Will's grateful for how loud the road noise is because he really doesn't feel like arguing with his dad right now and he has a feeling that unspent adrenaline and leftover terror at one of his kids being in danger would lead to a fair bit of yelling.

This is a suspicion that proves absolutely correct when they get back to the lair.

The initial rush of relief that everyone is back safely lasts all of two minutes. Felicity doesn't seem to quite know which one of them to hug first, so she grabs them both and holds on tight with a weak sob.

"Oh thank god," she mutters, kissing Oliver's shoulder and breathing him in.

"I'm fine," Oliver tells her. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

He takes a moment to hug Ellie and kiss a conflicted, angry Nate atop his head as he and Felicity head toward the one-time kids area of the lair, mostly beyond earshot. Will pulls off the mask and unzips the jacket immediately. This is not a mantle he wants and he can't wait to shed himself of it and begin to feel like himself again. But his siblings come first.

"Everything okay here?" Will asks, draping the jacket over his arm.

"Nate's pissy," Ellie informs him, as if he had not already known this.

"Thanks, Ellie," Will says, giving the girl a look. She just shrugs and eyes the jacket over his arm. He hates that she wants it so badly, that she's so very eager to grow up and toss herself into the fray. Ellie is a wonderful girl and Will loves her so very much for exactly who she is, but if he could change her mind on this one thing - if he could make her see the risk inherent in her choices more clearly - he'd do it in a heartbeat. But this moment needs to be about Nate. "Wanna talk about it?"

He doesn't, but he also can't quite help it. The twelve-year-old looks up at him grimly, all hard lines and serious eyes that have no place on a pre-teen.

" _Normal_ kids don't have to worry about things like this," Nate snaps. "They don't have dads who get kidnapped or brothers who run off to fight mobsters or sisters who argue they should get to go, too."

"That's true," Will acknowledges. "But who ever said normal meant better?"

"Me!" Nate says, like it's obvious. "Everybody. Who wants this?"

"I do," Ellie sighs, sounding every inch the haughty older sister.

"Well I don't," Nate snaps. "I hate it. I hate worrying and seeing Mom cry and Dad's scars. I hate never knowing if the police are gonna help my dad or kill him and the sounds of broken bones over the comms."

Will winces hard at that last one - he hates that sound too; it's going to echo in his dreams for weeks - but he crouches in front of Nate and puts his hand on his brother's knee.

"You hate it because you love your family," Will points out. "Because you want us all safe. I can't blame you for that. Neither will mom or dad, but you should probably talk to them about this."

"Why bother?" Nate asks. "It's not like they're gonna stop."

Will starts to answer, but his dad's voice raises loud enough to make out what he's saying and he finds himself freezing and glancing toward where his father and Felicity stand. Neither of them look happy.

"...cannot _believe_ you let him-"

"He's twenty-six, Oliver!" Felicity shouts. "He's twenty-six years old, a firefighter, better trained in self-defense than anyone outside the team we know. How the hell was I going to stop him?"

"He's my son!" Oliver snaps.

"He's my goddamned son, too!" she yells back, poking a finger in his chest between bruises. "Don't you _dare_ forget that, Oliver Queen. You think I wanted him in danger? You think I _wanted_ him wearing that mask? You know way the hell better than that."

Oliver opens his mouth to say something, but Felicity isn't done.

"That's my little boy in every way that matters and I don't care if he's twenty-six or six or sixty, I will never want him in danger _ever_ ," she growls at him, barely loud enough for Will to hear. "I will worry when he's at work and panic if he's in the field and come to the worst possible conclusions if he goes more than ten minutes without answering a text message. But he is an adult and he has a right to make his own choices. So, if you want to blame someone you can blame the assholes who kidnapped you and beat you on _live television_ while your children and I watched in horror _,_ but don't you dare put this on me because I do not deserve it."

You could have heard a pin drop in the room in the silence that follows. It is not commonplace to see their parents argue and both Ellie and Nate stare wide-eyed and stunned, waiting for their father's response. When it comes, it's precisely what's needed in the moment, even if Will is certain this is a conversation that will come up again later in a move private setting.

"You're right," his father says, taking the hand pressing a firm finger into his chest and kissing it gently. "I know you're right. I just… if I'd been here..."

"But you weren't here, Oliver," Felicity stresses. "That's the point. This family loves you. We will take risks we wouldn't otherwise to keep you in our lives. You know that. And you can't blame me - or Will - for doing what had to be done to save you."

It feels like an opening and Will draws himself up to his full height before announcing, "I will do whatever I have to to keep my family safe. But if I have my way, I will never put on that mask again."

His dad and Felicity both look at him startled, as if they hadn't realized they were loud enough to be overheard. Or, maybe like they'd even forgotten anyone else was there for a moment. Felicity blinks owlishly at him for a moment while his dad's brow furrows and he gives a tentative nod.

Will takes a couple of steps toward them.

"I respect what you do, Dad," he tells him. "I always have. But I have never once wanted to try and fill your shoes. Not once."

"Good," his father says hoarsely. "One of my kids desperate to take on the worst this city has to offer is more than enough."

Ellie sighs from somewhere behind Will, but he pays her little heed, instead closing the gap between himself and his father. He places the mask in his dad's hand and meets his gaze with a seriousness he rarely displays.

"Well… we've all got to find our own path, right?" he asks. "I can't speak for Ellie, but I can tell you that this one isn't mine. If you or Jules or Ellie or Nate or Bethy or Felicity ever need me, I'll be there in every capacity I can be, even if it means I have to put that mask on again. But, Dad… trust me when I say it is absolutely not what I want. You don't need to worry about this being a regular thing."

Oliver nods hard and draws him into a tight hug, hissing in discomfort at the pressure against his ribs but not loosening his hold on his son in the least.

"And Felicity," Will says, locking eyes with his stepmother over his dad's shoulder. "Sometimes it's gonna take me longer than ten minutes to reply to a text. 'I'm sorry but I need a minute to reply to my stepmother' is really bad date etiquette."

The rumble of his father's chuckle and the flush of his stepmother's cheeks prove full well to Will that his statement had its desired effect. His dad pulls back with a grin and an affectionate shake of his head.

"Come on, Kid," he says, nodding toward Will's shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"You first," Will replies with a raised eyebrow, glancing down at the bruises on his dad's chest before meeting his eyes again.

"Okay, Buddy," Oliver agrees with a nod, wrapping an arm around his son's shoulders. "We'll do it your way."


	53. June 2034

**June 2034**

Ellie likes school and all, but she will take summer break every time, given a choice. And summer break with a driver's license and a brand new car? Hell. Yes. That's just a whole new level of awesome.

It's eleven in the morning on a Tuesday and the sixteen year old is sprawled across her bed with her feet in the air as she scrolls through some classmates' Instagrams looking for fun ideas for a day trip. Sara's in class right now - she's taking a pretty aggressive approach to her firefighter training - but she's out in a couple of hours _and_ she's got tomorrow morning free, so hanging out late tonight is a definite option.

A bonfire at the beach sounds cool. They could just… hang out, talk, roast some s'mores. And it would be…

Ellie sighs.

A date, it would totally be a date. At least it would in her head and that's a _problem_. This is her best friend in the whole world. Being stupid in love with her is bad enough, she can't inadvertently set them up in a romantic day out on their own. The last thing she wants is to accidentally make Sara uncomfortable and have it hurt their friendship.

No moonlit walks on the beach. Nope. They will just… have to find something else to do. Maybe a movie?

Ellie groans and smushes her face against the tablet screen.

" _Awesome_ thought. That's not date-like at all," she chastises herself lowly.

"You have a date?"

Ellie's head snaps back up to find Jules watching her with curiosity from the doorway. There's something uneasy about her, though, and Ellie can't quite put her finger on what it is, but it definitely piques her interest.

"No," she bemoans. "I do not have a date. That's the problem. I'm trying to come up with something cool to go do with Sara but everything is just… well, it all just seems romantic."

"What've you got so far?" Jules asks, stepping into the room and quietly shutting the door behind her before moving to the side of Ellie's bed to spy what's on the tablet screen.

It's strange, Ellie realizes. She and Jules hang out from time to time these days, but on the rare occasion one of them shuts the door, it's because they're trying to avoid their parents or Nate from overhearing something. The whole family knows full well about Ellie's longstanding crush on her best friend, so that can't possibly be it.

"Bonfire at the beach or the movies," Ellie winces, sitting up and budging over and patting the bed next to her. Jules sits cross-legged beside her and winces.

"Yeah," she agrees. "I can see how those might come off like a date. Maybe if it wasn't just you guys? Miles and I could come."

"Then it's just a double-date!" Ellie points out with a mournful cry. "Plus, I know you're crazy about the guy and all but - Jules - I gotta say if I hear one more thing about the fabric of the universe and our inability to truly _know_ things, I'm going to punch him. Hard."

"He's not _that_ bad," Jules protests, rolling her eyes.

"Considering you've been dating for like six months now, it's pretty clear you think so," Ellie scoffs. "Some of us have different limits for that kind of thing. Can you imagine him and Sara in the same car for an hour on the way to the beach?"

Jules actually visibly flinches at that idea.

"Yeah," Ellie laughs shortly. "Me either. Someone would not be coming back. I do appreciate the offer though."

"Just do the mall then," Jules shrugs. "Or something else that's casual. What would you do if it were you and me hanging out?"

"We'd go to the beach or the movies!" Ellie sighs. "But you'd shove me onto the sand and stick your tongue out at me or steal my popcorn and flick it at people talking in front of us."

"I would," Jules agrees in a distant voice as she nods her head.

"I'm not in love with you, dorkwad," Ellie points out. "It is very much not sisterly-feelings I have for Sara, okay? If she shoved me down in the sand I'd probably drag her down with me just to be close to her and I'd help her aim the damned popcorn just because it would be a really good excuse to lean in closer."

"You really do have it bad," Jules notes with a sympathetic look.

"You _think_?" Ellie laughs. "Ugh, I'm doomed."

She flops sideways, smushing her face into her pillow.

"You're not _doomed_ ," Jules tells her in a long-suffering voice.

"I'm doomed," Ellie repeats, the sound of her voice muffled by the pillow. "Project 'she tried really hard not to make it a date' on my headstone."

"Oh my god, you're ridiculous," Jules announces, tugging on her shoulder. "Sit up. It's gonna be fine. Just hang out in groups for a bit until it's easier. Maybe you need to go on a date."

Ellie sits up abruptly and looks at her sister agog. "Uh, did you miss the part where Sara is straight?"

"Not with Sara, dumbass," Jules rolls her eyes. "There _are_ other girls out there, you know. And, in case you hadn't noticed, you're sort of a catch."

Well, that's flattering, but it still doesn't solve Ellie's problem.

"First of all, thank you," Ellie says, ticking off fingers as she talks. "Second of all, did you miss the part where I'm in love with Sara? I don't want to date someone else. And third of all, most people don't know I'm gay yet and I'm really not all that excited about them finding out. I mean, sure it's 2034. It's not like this is the 1950s or whatever, but that doesn't mean I'm not nervous about the whole world knowing I'm gay. Some people are gonna be jerks about it. You know they will."

"Fuck 'em," Jules shrugs. "They wanna be homophobic assholes, they can deal with me. Bring it on. I got this."

It's sweet, endearing as hell, and Ellie can't help the affectionate smile that creeps across her lips, but she also has to shake her head. It's nowhere near as simple as Jules is trying to make it seem.

"Well, I'm glad you've got my back, anyhow," Ellie says, bumping shoulders against her sister.

"Hell yes, I do," Jules nods firmly. "I'm happy to bitchslap a few people for being prejudicial assholes. That's not okay. And besides, no one gets to pick on you but me. That's _my_ job."

Ellie rolls her eyes, because _yeah_ , that's just a very Jules thing to say. "You're an overachiever," she tells her sister in an overly sweet tone.

Jules just preens in response, looking far too self-satisfied for a moment before taking on a more thoughtful air. "So…" she fishes. "There's _no one_ else you're interested in even a little? You don't have to marry the girl, you know. Just have coffee and see if there's a bit of a spark. Could be fun."

"I dunno," Ellie says, picking at the thread of her comforter. "Maybe. It just feels wrong, you know? How would that be fair to someone, if I asked her out when I was so far gone on Sara?"

"Huh…" Jules mulls, looking a great deal more serious. "So… you've really never been out on a date, then?"

"Never been on a date. Never kissed anyone. Nothing," Ellie mopes.

"...Damn," Jules mutters.

It's not a judgement, though. Not in the least. In fact, her sudden, clearly disappointed mood seems like it doesn't have a thing to do with Ellie at all. Jules looks torn, staring off at the wall as she chews her lower lip. And that alone is more than enough to spark Ellie's interest.

" _Why_?" she asks, eyes narrowing at her sister.

"No reason," Jules shrugs. It's done in that offhanded manner she always tries to adopt but never quite manages to make convincing when something _really_ matters.

"You came in here for a reason," Ellie points out. "You came in and you shut the door. That wasn't to question me about my feelings for Sara. Spill."

Hesitance washes over Jules' face as she considers her sister's words and the air of bashful awkwardness that settles over her seems entirely foreign.

"I just… wanted to see if you had any insight," Jules hedges. "About things. But you don't, so that's fine."

This is a lovely way of saying almost nothing at all and Ellie's eyes narrow as she tries to read between the lines and see what her sister isn't saying.

"Insight," she repeats. "About relationships?"

"Sorta," Jules admits. "I didn't really think you would, but I guess I was kinda hoping."

That still doesn't make sense. Ellie turns to fully face her sister and levels her with a strange look.

"If I were dating someone, you'd know it," she points out.

"Yeah, but… nevermind," Jules says, turning pink-cheeked and looking entirely embarrassed.

"No, come on," Ellie urges. "You can talk to me. I might not be dating anyone, but I can totally be there for relationship advice. Are you looking for a way to advise your boyfriend that the world actually _is_ round and some things are - in fact - knowable? Cause, lemme tell you, I've got _ideas_."

That really should have earned a far bigger laugh than the tiny chuckle Jules gives. But that's all it is, a small nervous laugh and a fully reddened face as she scratches at the side of her nose and avoids eye contact.

"Not relationships like _feelings_ ," Jules admits. "Relationships like _physical_. ...Like sex."

Ellie could be knocked over by a feather in this moment. Her eyes go absolutely enormous and her jaw drops open completely on it's own.

"Holy shit did you have sex?" she asks.

"Um…" Jules says, wrinkling her nose.

"You had sex with Philosophy Grunge Guy?" Ellie squeaks, her voice a solid octave higher than normal.

"Could you not call him that?" Jules asks, scratching at the back of her neck as she glances at Ellie. "And… yes. Yes, I did."

"Woah," Ellie pronounces. "That's uh… congratulations?" What the hell does someone actually say in this situation? She has no idea.

"Oh my god, you're ridiculous," Jules says, rubbing at her eyes.

"That's… Jules, I love you, but what the hell did you think I'd be able to offer in the way of advice about your super straight sex life?" Ellie asks. "I'm flattered, don't get me wrong. But I'm also a sixteen-year-old lesbian virgin. I am not a good resource on this. I can be your cheerleader or sounding board, though. If that's what you need."

"Maybe?" Jules asks. She sounds fantastically unsure of herself. "It's just… it wasn't what I expected. That's all."

"What does that mean?" Ellie asks, waiting for clarification. "What was it like?"

"It was… It was nice, I guess," Jules allows.

" _Nice_?" Ellie asks.

"I just thought it was supposed to be more fun, okay?" Jules blurts out in a rush. "That's what I was gonna ask you about. Because it was… I mean, he seemed really into it."

"I bet," Ellie scoffs. Jules ignores the interruption.

"And it was nice being that close to him, even if it was kind of scary at first," Jules continues. "Plus he was really sweet and everything. But it was just… it was just nice. I guess I expected fireworks."

"So you didn't… have that great _boom_ at the end then, huh?" Ellie asks.

"Definitely not," Jules sighs. She looks deeply disappointed. "Is that normal? I've heard some girls say that the first time is just like that. But what if it's not that? What if it's just me? What if I did something wrong?"

"Like what?" Ellie asks.

"Well, I don't know!" Jules cries out, standing up and starting to pace while gesturing wildly. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."

"Alas, I am not the resource you're looking for," Ellie tells her dully. Jules shoot her a disbelieving look but Ellie just gives a sheepish smile. "Have you tried again? If you want to, I mean. Test that first-time theory out?"

"No," Jules sighs. "I'm not sure I want to because what if it's just me and I'm terrible at sex?"

That seems awfully unlikely to Ellie, though she's privately coming up with a great deal of fresh dislike for her sister's boyfriend. But she's not going to tell her that because she doesn't _know._ She's never been in these shoes and she can totally get where her sister is coming from.

"Maybe we need to talk to someone else," Ellie suggests. "Somebody with first hand knowledge."

"Like who?" Jules asks. "I'm not having this conversation with the girls at dance. They'd probably just laugh at me and then that'd follow me around forever."

"What about Mom?" Ellie asks.

Jules goes stock still.

"No," she says.

"You totally _could_ talk to her, you know," Ellie points out.

"I know," Jules agrees. "But I don't want her knowing I slept with Miles. She'd tell Dad and they'd _both_ start looking at me funny and glaring daggers to Miles constantly."

"Okay, well, I'm pretty sure you're wrong, but whatever," Ellie shrugs. "What about Will?"

" _Will_?" Jules asks, both of her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "You want me to talk to _Will_ about my sex life? I might as well hand him a shotgun and give him directions to Miles' place."

"He's not _that_ bad," Ellie rolls her eyes.

"Uh… have you met Will?" Jules demands. "Yes he is."

"He's not as kumbaya as Dad about dating, but he's not gonna hurt the guy," Ellie assures her. "Besides, he's dated like… _a lot_. You've gotta know he's had quite a bit of experience with sex."

"This is something I've definitely not ever thought about," Jules assures her with a muted look of horror.

"He's gonna have the same look on his face when he has to think about your sex life," Ellie says, her voice suddenly chipper as she hops up from the bed. "Which is why I'm totally going with you."

"This is _fun_ for you?" Jules blinks.

"Well, yeah," Ellie admits. "Also potentially educational. Sex ed classes skip all the good parts and they suck for queer kids overall. Way to only teach me things that don't apply to me, public school system."

"To be fair, Mom did try to fill the gap there," Jules points out.

"She did," Ellie agrees. "But listening to her attempt to explain oral sex is not an experience I ever want to relive."

"You think Will is gonna be _better_?" Jules questions.

"I think he's gonna be more entertaining, at any rate," Ellie nods. "Come on, let's go. I'm driving."

After the barest moment of indecision, Jules sighs and says "I can't believe I'm doing this" as she follows Ellie toward the door.

"That's the spirit!" Ellie tells her in a gleeful voice as they head out.

It's a good thing that Ellie's driving, at least in her opinion, because Jules changes her mind three times on the way to Will's place. But Ellie stays the course and reminds Jules that she needs to talk to _someone_ and unless she's come up with a better plan then Will's the best option. She clams up at that every time because - awkward or not - there is no one in the world that Jules trusts as much as her big brother. If she were a little less secure, a little less certain of the love her entire family has for her, that might be a sore spot for Ellie. But it's not. Jules and Will are closer with each other than either one of them will ever be with her, but she doesn't resent that at all. They've both faced struggles that she has not and she's just grateful that they've had each other to relate to and lean on over the years.

"He's probably not home anyhow," Jules decides as they get out of Ellie's brand new, bright red Jeep. She's running her hands through her hair, trying to untangle it. Ellie flatly refuses to put the top up on her car. She didn't leave printed off pictures of a Jeep all over the house for months before her birthday just to wind up driving around with the top up like some kind of mid-sized sedan with a never-used sunroof.

"Really?" Ellie asks, tilting her head toward the parking lot next to Will's building. "Because that looks like his car to me."

"Could be anyone's," Jules mutters.

"Yup," Ellie snarks. "Loads of people have fire department decals on their back window. Totally a trend."

"Ellie," Jules groans with a little whine.

"Come on," Ellie says, looping her arm through Jules'. "Let's get this over with."

The older girl makes a frustrated noise of protest, but falls in step easily as Ellie heads toward Will's condominium.

His building is an old one, but nicely kept up. Ellie thinks the interior halls that lead to individual units are a little weird, but Will has never seemed to mind. Even if he had, she thinks the fact that it's a two-bedroom place of his own that also has access to a pool would've won him over. He takes his responsibilities to Bethany very seriously and he's made it clear ever since his mom died that Bethy would always have her own place with him.

They're at Will's door well before Jules is ready - as if that was ever a thing that was going to happen - and Ellie knocks solidly before the older girl can change her mind again.

"See?" Jules squeaks after barely half a second. "He's not home. We should go."

She's not even done with the word 'go' before the sound of the lock unlatching clicks. Ellie looks at Jules and the older girl as she inhales sharply and every line of her body tenses up. In all honesty, Ellie can't blame her for that. This is bound to be, at best, a terrifically awkward conversation.

"Hey," Will says as he pulls open the door, a surprised but pleased look on his face. "Wasn't expecting to see you guys. What's up?"

As he speaks, he pulls the door open wider and tilts his head in invitation to come on in. They do and Ellie takes a second to glance around the the space. He's alone, thank goodness. She hadn't even stopped to consider he might have company over, a girl or his co-workers or even Bethy. But, they'd lucked out. It's just him and a pile of unfolded laundry on the sofa with a ballgame paused on the tv.

"You're busy," Jules announces, nodding at the laundry. "We should go."

The look Will gives her is hilarious, disbelieving thinned eyes and pursed lips with a tilt of his head, and Ellie has to stifle a laugh at the sight.

"I'm watching a baseball game from three years ago while I tackle my laundry, Jules," he points out. "That's the exact opposite of being busy. What's going on?"

"Well… we wanted to talk to you about something," Ellie hedges, suddenly nervous too, which is kinda silly because _she's_ not the one having sex and asking her brother if she's doing it right, but this is still her idea.

"Want is a strong word," Jules mutters, stretching her neck.

"About what?" Will asks, turning toward the sofa and going to move some of the laundry out of the way.

"It's uh…" Ellie starts but looks at Jules helplessly with a cringe. "Um…"

Jules huffs out a frustrated noise, gathers her courage and blurts out "We need to know if a girl doesn't orgasm the first time she has sex if that's because she's doing something wrong."

Will promptly stubs his foot on the sofa and trips over his own feet, barely catching himself on the armrest.

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks alarmed.

"Not really?" Will answers, his voice making it sound more like a question. He looks back at his sisters incredulously before standing back up, laundry still in hand. "That is, uh… that is not a question I expected."

They both stay totally silent. It takes Ellie a moment to realize it, but their expressions are a perfect mirror of each other. For all that they don't look alike, in this moment they are very definitely sisters.

"Have you… I mean…" Will starts before shaking his head hard as if trying to rid himself of some thought. "Have you talked to your mom about… any of this?"

"We wanted to talk to you," Ellie informs him. "Mom would be weird about this."

"And I'm totally normal about it?" Will asks, his voice nearly squeaking as it raises in pitch.

"This was a bad idea," Jules decides aloud, clearly closing herself off in typical Jules fashion. "Forget this even happened. It's fine. Let's just go, Ellie."

"No," Will announces. It's almost a physical change as he shifts from being totally stunned to recognizing the importance they've given him by coming to him with this. "No. Look this is not a fun conversation for any of us and it's definitely not one I want to have with my _sisters_ , but I'm really glad that you felt like you could come to me with questions. That means a lot. And I want to be someone you can come to about anything, so… Okay let's talk about this. Just as soon as I grab a drink."

"It's like noon," Ellie points out.

"Call it brunch then," Will tells her, heading over toward the mini bar he'd set up just last year. He pours himself two fingers of whiskey and knocks it back with a speed that belies precisely how uncomfortable this conversation is. "Is this… a theoretical question?" he asks hopefully.

"...No," Jules admits, turning about four shades of red on a dime.

"Was that…" Will stops, flinches and scratches the back of his neck before continuing. "Jules, was that something that was your choice or do I need to go murder your boyfriend? Because if he pressured you or forced you to-"

"No," Jules cuts him off. "It wasn't like that at all. It was my choice. I'm nineteen, Will, and we've been together for five months."

"Okay, well _good_ , but nineteen is too young to be having sex," Will tells her.

"How old were you your first time?" Jules asks in a defensive, overly saccharine voice.

"That's not the point," Will scoff, brushing off the question.

"Why? Because I'm a girl?" Jules challenges.

"No," Will counters. "Because I was an idiot. Just because I did something doesn't mean it was the right thing to do." He sighs. "Sit down. Do you guys want something to drink?"

"Got any hot cocoa?" Ellie asks.

"Whiskey," Jules says, nodding to his bar.

Ellie fully expects him to give Jules a look and make them both cocoas, but he doesn't. He pours Jules the same amount of whiskey he gave himself and heads across the space to his small kitchen to fix Ellie's cocoa. He forever has chocolate sauce around his house, thanks to his baby sister, and it doesn't take long for him to microwave some milk and stir in some Hershey's syrup. It does, however, give all of them a moment to collect themselves before continuing the conversation.

"You know those go well together," Will tells them, nodding toward their drinks as he hands Ellie her mug.

"We're very complimentary, Ellie and I," Jules replies loftily, clinking her glass with Ellie's 'I'm the princess, that's why' mug that was definitely intended for Bethy.

Ellie preens a little bit internally at that until Jules takes a sip of her whiskey and coughs wildly. "God this is like drinking gasoline, how can you stand this stuff?"

"Don't drink it then," Will says with a shrug. "You're not actually old enough anyhow." Taking a deep breath and a seat in the arm chair across from the girls, he continues with steeled resolve. "Okay. So… first of all, don't have sex yet. Second of all, don't have sex with selfish idiots."

"Hey!" Jules protests, offended on her boyfriend's behalf.

"Jules, I'm gonna do my very best to pretend later that we never had this conversation, but any guy - or girl, Ellie - who isn't concerned with you enjoying yourself too when you're having sex is a selfish dick and you deserve better."

"I… enjoyed myself," Jules insists uneasily. "It just wasn't... you know, _fireworks_. That's all."

"Look, most girls don't orgasm from penetrative sex the first time, Jules. Some women have trouble with that overall," Will informs her. "It doesn't mean you did anything wrong. But, Jules, that's why there's foreplay. If he can't be bothered to figure out what makes _you_ feel good, then he's a jerk, but you should also communicate what you want because he can't read your mind."

Jules is clearly internalizing all of this, her eyes flitting back and forth as she gnaws at her lip and work through her thoughts. "I guess, I just don't know what I want yet."

"That just makes communication more important," Will tells her. "Personally, I think you should wait another five to ten years before you're having sex, but if you're gonna do it now then be open with your boyfriend about what feels good and what makes you uncomfortable. And, for the love of everything in this universe, make him wear a condom."

"Obviously," Jules says, rolling her eyes.

This whole conversation feels like an opportunity that might never come again so Ellie sits there for a moment mulling over what she'd ask before announcing, "I have a question about girls."

She's pretty sure Will wasn't ready for that - he's barely managing this conversation with Jules, after all - and he looks at her with slightly terrified eyes. "I… like them?" he offers.

"Me, too," Ellie reminds him before clarifying. "I'm not having sex. I don't have a girlfriend. I haven't even kissed anyone or been on a date yet."

"Thank you, God," Will breathes out with incredible amounts of relief.

"But, for future knowledge," she continues, cupping her hands around the mug of cocoa and forging forward. "When you're going down on a girl, how do you know you're doing it right?"

Will blinks at her, his eyes so wide that it seems like they might fall right out of his head. "Give me a minute," he says, standing up. "I'm gonna need more whiskey for this."

"Will…" Ellie chastises.

"Fine, fine," he says, shaking his head hard and sitting back down.

It's Jules who speaks up next though, her voice knowing and a touch patronizing. "Ellie, guys don't really do that, you know."

"The hell they don't," Will protests immediately, looking fully offended.

"Um… what?" Jules asks, looking back and forth between Ellie and Will.

"Oh my god, I can't believe we're having this conversation," Will says, pinching the bridge of his nose. " _Look_ , the secret to sex is that there is no secret. It's just sex. However you do it is fine as long as everyone's consenting and enjoying themselves. There's no right way or wrong way. Listen to your partner and pay attention to their body language. Communication makes sex _way_ better. And when you're in love with the other person, too, that takes it to a whole different level."

That begs a question from Ellie that she hadn't honestly considered before. "Are you in love with Miles?" she asks, looking at Jules.

She doesn't answer right away and that feels to Ellie like an answer on it's own.

"I guess so," Jules says after a minute. "I mean, I think I am."

Having been in love for longer than she understood the idea of it, Ellie's pretty sure that Jules is more in love with the idea of Miles than with the actual man. A quick glance at Will gives her the impression that he thinks the same thing. It's an almost sympathetic gaze.

"It's all right if you're not," Will tells her. "I definitely wasn't in love with the first girl I slept with, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was different with Allison, back in college. With her, it was more about being connected and wanting to see her swept away."

"Do you still miss her?" Ellie asks curiously. It's been a long time since Will and Allison broke up, but she has to ask. " _Do you ever get over her?"_ she needs to know. " _Do you ever stop loving that girl who can't love you enough?"_

"Sometimes I miss having something _like_ that," Will allows. "But things ended messily with Ally and if she wasn't going to respect my choices for my life, I am better off without her in it. I know that. But those early days when things were good… yeah I miss that sometimes."

Ellie isn't sure what to make of that answer, it applies less to her own life than she'd hoped it would and it's not as reassuring as she wanted. But it is honest and she respects her big brother for that a great deal.

"Look, Jules," Will says, standing up. "You know my opinion on your boyfriend. I don't think he's good enough for you, but your relationship gets to be your own choice and I… accept that because I have to. But, completely separate from that, for both of you… if you're with someone who doesn't respect you - in bed or out of it - just leave. You both deserve better than someone who puts their own wants and needs above yours. You shouldn't be anyone's afterthought."

Jules says nothing, looking completely lost in thought, but Ellie nods back because it seems like sound advice to her.

"If it's not already clear, you can talk to me about anything, okay?" Will adds, waiting until both of his sisters nod to continue. "Good," he says. "Now, I want you to know that the second Bethy has questions about periods, I'm sending her to you two because I am not equipped for that conversation."

"Quid pro quo much?" Ellie asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Seemed like a good moment to bring it up," Will clarifies. "And I thought you might want time to prepare. She's only four so you've got like a decade to figure it out."

"A decade?" Jules snorts. "Oh… oh _Will_."

"What?" he asks, in endearingly adorable confusion.

"Try half a decade," Ellie informs him. "Maybe a little more, but that chat should happen on the early side, so I'd say give it five years or so."

"...No," Will says, turning a little white as he looks to Jules like she might contradict her sister. "Really?"

"Well, it varies, obviously, but..." Jules tells him, letting her sentence linger and drop off into silence as she shrugs one shoulder.

"Oh, man," Will says. "I am… not ready for that."

Jules gets up, walks over and pats her brother's shoulder. "It's fine. We've got your back. And hers."

The smile Will offers up is equal parts affection and gratefulness. It lingers, but it also shifts into something different, something edged in concern.

"You're one of the most amazing people I've ever met," he tells Jules. "I am lucky to be your brother. And I won't bring it up again because I know you don't want to hear it, but Julie, you deserve better than Miles."

She breaks eye contact with him for a minute, thinking through her response before meeting his gaze again. "I deserve what I want," she tells her brother. "And, for now, I want him."

"Okay," Will allows. "Well, I'm always here for you either way. I just want you to be happy."

"And he makes me happy, so that works out," Jules challenges brightly.

"If he ever doesn't, all I need's the go-ahead from you," Will tells her, his voice equally chipper.

Jules rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder. "Overprotective dork," she accuses.

"Better than a wild child brat," he counters. She sticks her tongue out at him in response and suddenly the entire situation feels incredibly normal.

Ellie stands and finshes her cocoa, putting the mug down next to Jules' barely-touched whiskey. "We should get going," she says. "Unless you want help with the laundry?"

"Nah," Will says, waving off the offer. "Thanks, but you guys go enjoy your summer break. I'm here if you need anything."

Ellie grins and hugs her big brother tightly. There is, she thinks, no doubt in that whatsoever.


	54. July 2034

**July 2034**

Sneaking out of the house is near impossible for Ellie Queen. Her parents have made sure of that. And it's not like they're _typical_ parents. No, her mom probably has facial recognition software monitoring satellite feeds targeting their house and her dad may very well have boobytrapped the yard.

Okay, probably not, but it seems possible anyhow.

But, crafty as they are, Ellie is the progeny of both of them and she is equal to the task of slipping the confines of her house for the night. An economics test presents the best excuse possible to escape. There's just one slight hiccup in her super-nerdy little brother perking up and asking if he can help her study. Honestly _such_ a dork. But 'oh no, I'm meeting some classmates at the library,' she tells them all with a chipper grin and a lie on her lips.

She has more determination than sense, as her father will tell her before the night is through, but this is her birthright. She's meant to be a hero, to defend the city and play the role of savior. It's practically preordained. Her need to fill those shoes, to follow her destiny, has grown worse since Sara joined the team. It grates on Ellie, knowing her best friend and the love of her life is out there in the streets night after night doing everything she'd like to be doing herself. She's sixteen going on twenty-six and she'd give anything to be just a bit older, just a bit more independent. But she's not… so she sneaks out.

The cover of dark helps, as does the black beanie that hides her pale hair. She'd already swiped a spare comm unit from the lair last week, so she can easily tune in and listen to where the team is at, what they're doing, where she's needed.

She knows these city streets like the back of her hand, better than nearly anyone else. That knowledge far surpasses which roads intersect where and leaps forward into what gangs have footholds in what territories, where the drug dens tend to crop up, which city blocks suffer the most in the way of assaults. She has, in many ways, been studying to fill her father's shoes her entire life. Or, maybe more accurately, to fill her own. It's all she's ever wanted.

Well… that and Sara Diggle, but that's another matter entirely.

She finds the team with little trouble, leaving her incredibly noticeable, bright red Jeep in an unmanned parking garage a few blocks away and hoofing it on foot through the crime-laden south side of downtown.

Today's big bad isn't your typical low-rung gang or pack of muggers, though. No, this is much worse. Some terrorist group is planning an attack on the football stadium during a high school game in response to one of the teams allowing girls to play. It's not _her_ school, but she takes it personally anyhow. These are her peers. She knows some of these kids, has played volleyball against them and taunted each other in friendly rivalry. This is too close to home and even if she hadn't been dead set on joining the team already, this would've done it.

But things aren't as easy as all that.

She slips into the building, an old apartment complex that was condemned years ago and really ought to be torn down, and makes her way up to the roof, pulling on a ski mask as she goes.

When she arrives on the roof, the team's all there. Sara - _sorry_ , Cynisca - with her dark burnished orange suit worn like a second skin, an arrow nocked, Spartan with his gun drawn, The Arrow with a bow in hand... even Arsenal is here with his weapon at the ready. The terrorists aren't especially skilled, but there are a lot of them and sometimes untrained fighters are the more dangerous ones, they're unpredictable and their stupid choices often hurt everyone in the process. The team is being careful, engaging and rounding up those they can while closing rank and protecting each other's backs.

Sara fits in like she was meant to be there. It's a strange thing to be jealous of her, especially when Ellie's hardpressed to think of anyone in the world she loves more. She doesn't like the feeling in the least. But then her emotions where Sara's concerned have always been complicated and painful to manage.

Time slips by as Ellie looks for an opening to dive in, to help the team, to make a _difference_. She needs this, needs to prove that she's useful, that they would be better off with her backing them up… or maybe even taking the lead. So, she is very, very careful in her approach.

It's a testament to her training and skills that not a soul amongst the team realizes she's there. At least, they don't until it's too late.

There's a moment, a split second, when she sees her chance. One of the terrorists, a burly guy nearly as large as Uncle Digg with a scraggly red beard that looks like it hasn't been trimmed in a decade, clearly sees Sara as a target. She's young, a woman, interfering with his plans, precisely the kind of person this group of men hates. It's just one more reason Ellie feels like this is her fight, like she needs to be here.

When burly guy closes in on Sara from behind, one hell of a knife in hand that he's clearly ready to use, he's maybe a dozen feet in front of Ellie. She has as clear a shot as she could have ever asked for and Sara needs her right now. That's a hell of a motivating factor.

Nerves and excitement burn through Ellie's veins, but her hand is steady as she slips a tranquilizer dart from her jacket pocket and takes aim. Her throw is great, precise and sure. It would've been a solid victory had she actually been a part of the team.

But the thing that Ellie had forgotten, the place she'd failed, was recognizing that teams work _together_. They communicate and anticipate each other's moves, support each other. Ellie's working in a vacuum. She might be adjacent to the team, but she's not _on it_. And that's why everything goes sideways.

Roy had spotted the encroaching danger to Sara at the same time as Ellie and he'd been moving to come to her aid. So, when Ellie's dart flies free, it's not the terrorist's arm she hits, it's her uncle's neck.

With a hand touching the dart in surprise and wide, stunned eyes, her uncle turns slightly toward her before collapsing to the ground.

Ellie squeaks, lets out an " _oh, shit_!" and scrambles for cover as one of the terrorists takes a shot at her. The only good side to her actions seems to be that the burly man she's dubbed Red Beard had gotten distracted trying to discern what was happening behind him and had momentarily stopped his threatening approach toward Sara. Sara, too, had taken note of Roy's fall. In fact, it seems like everyone has.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," her father growls in a barely-audible-but-definitely-irate voice. Ellie winces hard at that because this night is going entirely the wrong way and it's pretty much proving the opposite of her point. "Cynisca," her father orders loudly with a grunt as he slams his fist into one of the men's faces before turning to take on Red Beard. "Get her out of here… _Now_."

There's a moment of visible frustration on Sara's face, even from behind her mask. She flinches, her jaw tightens and a moment of indecision flits through her eyes before she gives a huff of annoyance and stows her bow, stalking toward Ellie.

Ellie had kind of anticipated that her dad might be mad at her - that had kind of been a given - and he is. She had not counted on Sara being pissed. But, boy does she look it at the moment.

"Come on," she says, grabbing Ellie's wrist firmly and tugging her along back toward the stairwell. They have to pause behind discarded junk a few times just to avoid becoming easy targets, but the terrorists are thinning out thanks to Ellie's thoroughly ticked off father and Uncle Digg. Soon enough, she and Sara make it to the stairwell. Sara doesn't say a word until they're down it by half a flight and she tears off her mask, clenching it tightly in her fist.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sara demands. Her tone immediately makes Ellie defensive, which is probably the worst possible response.

"The same thing as you," she counters, pulling off her own ski mask and crossing her arms in front of herself. It's as protective of herself as it is standoffish and it only adds fuel to the already-fiery situation.

"Um, _no_ ," Sara corrects, her words dripping with snark. " _I_ am on a team. _I_ am part of a carefully planned operation. You're a kid in a ski mask messing everything up."

"Screw you, Sara," Ellie snaps angrily, as offended as she can ever remember being. A kid. She's a _kid_. "This is who I am!"

"Not yet!" Sara counters, her voice loud enough that it's echoing off the concrete. "And you damn well proved tonight that you're not ready. What part of sneaking into a fight seemed like a good idea to you? You're lucky you didn't get someone really hurt. You're lucky you didn't get yourself killed. You're lucky you didn't get _me_ killed."

Ellie steps back like she's been slapped. She cannot think of anything worse. She can't even imagine a moment that would be more gutting. Just the thought of it makes bile rise up the back of her throat and her eyes water up.

"I am here because this is personal in every possible way," Ellie tells her best friend, her voice intense but level. "This is my birthright. This is my family. You are my best friend. These men are targeting people that _I know_ because some girls dared to play _sports_. I'm not here to get anyone hurt. I have an obligation to be here. This is my calling, Sara. Kid or not, this is who I am, who I have _always_ been."

"I know," Sara confirms. She's not smiling, though. She's gravely serious and in spite of her agreement Ellie feels no sense of relief. "But, Elle… this isn't a game and it's not something that can just be handed to you. You can't waltz into a fight and expect to play the hero. It doesn't work like that. This team was here long before you and if you can't earn the trust of the people on it, then you're never going to become the hero you want to be."

Ellie can't breathe for a moment, the look of disappointment in Sara's eyes pins her in place, sets her mind in a tailspin.

"You don't _trust_ me?" she manages, barely above a whisper.

"Not right now, I don't," Sara replies, looking as hurt as Ellie feels. "Not with this. Not after today… Go home, Ellie. Do your homework. Go to bed. Get up and go to school in the morning like you're supposed to. The city will be here when you're ready. But, Ellie… that is not now."

"Sara…" Ellie protests, grabbing the other girl's wrist loosely as she turns to head back up the stairs.

With sad eyes, Sara looks down at Ellie's hand before meeting her gaze. She doesn't wrench away, but the distance between them spans wide anyhow.

"Sounds like the fight's over. I need to make sure Arsenal is okay and help the team wrap things up," she replies. Ellie loosens her grip until her hand simply falls away. "Go home, Ellie. You don't belong here."

Ellie stays frozen in place for a very long moment as Sara's footfalls echo down the stairway. When she inevitably leaves, heads back out into the night alone, it feels like a part of her stays behind.


	55. September 2036

"Man, what am I even doing here?" Eric asks from the passenger seat of Roy's truck. "You don't gotta babysit me. I mean, I appreciate it and all. Thea's concern is nice. Yours too, I guess. But if you've got errands or whatever I could just stay at the house with her. I don't mind keeping her company."

"She needs sleep," Roy points out, giving the kid a sidelong glance. "And you _do_ need a babysitter."

"I'm twenty!" Eric protests, looking offended.

"Too old to ground and send to your room," Roy grunts in agreement. "Doesn't mean you don't need a babysitter, though."

"You ain't my dad," Eric grumbles.

"Did I say dad?" Roy asks, looking at him like he's nuts. "What part of babysitter says 'father' to you?"

"Well, you ain't getting paid either, so…" Eric points out, shrugging a shoulder.

"Never said I was smart to take the job," Roy replies dryly.

Eric just makes a tsking noise and turns to stare out the window. In profile, he seems even younger than he is, but maybe that's just Roy's age showing. It's been nearly a year since he caught Eric stealing from the foundation, a year next week since the kid's last relative died, too. Despite his reservations at first, he has to admit that Thea's call to offer Eric a job a year ago had been the right one. He's a good kid… most of the time. Kind of a brat, definitely filled to the brim with snark and sass, but a good kid all the same. And he's surely grown close with Thea. It's been wonderful for _her_ , but lately Roy's been worried more about Eric. He's lost so many people and Thea doesn't have a whole lot of time left.

Was it cruel to help this bond to forge when they all _knew_ it would be cut so soon? Is it fair to Eric? He doesn't have any answers. He's a simple man. He loves his wife and, in spite of himself, he loves this punk kid a little, too. Even if he is kind of a brat.

"Aw damn, man," Eric smirks sarcastically. "You wanna step on it before that lady with the stroller passes us? Isn't there a minimum speed limit?"

"Wanna find out?" Roy offers. "I could go slower."

"Where we goin' anyhow?" Eric asks, foregoing answering Roy's retort. "This is not my part of town."

"No," Roy answers. "It's not. My brother-in-law's got an emergency I need to help with. You're gonna take a seat and touch absolutely nothing."

"Stealing ain't my thing, you know," Eric snaps, looking honestly affronted. "But if you don't trust that, maybe I should just bail now."

He's reaching for his seatbelt latch so Roy locks the car doors as a preemptive move.

"Calm down," he says. "That's not what I meant. I just don't want you to hurt yourself and make everyone panic."

"Man, you _do_ think I need a babysitter, don't you?" Eric blinks at him. "What's Senator Fancy Pants got in his office that you think's gonna hurt me? I haven't run with scissors in at least five years."

Roy tries to stifle a laugh at that and almost manages it, which leads Eric to adopt an entirely too self-satisfied look. But the humor fades away pretty quickly as they pull into a parking garage and start circling down the levels toward the bottom… Toward _past_ the bottom, if we're getting specific.

"It's not his senate office I'd be worried about," Roy says, as he guides the car ahead at a steady clip. He ignores a wary look from Eric.

"That bit I said about going too slow before?" Eric asks, obviously bracing himself a bit. "You tryin' to make up for it now? Cause we can just call it a wash, if you want."

"Calm down," Roy tells him, take a bit of dark amusement in the situation. "It's fine. You might be surprised, though. I'm not quite the boring old guy you seem to think I am."

Eric isn't hearing any of it, though. He's too busy watching the barricade they're fast approaching.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a real daredevil," Eric agrees readily. "Proved your point real well. Now, maybe stop the car before we both end up a smear on the windshield?"

"Chicken," Roy accuses, punching a button on the dash. He doesn't slow down in the least, but it doesn't matter because the wall ahead at the bottom level of the parking garage suddenly slides open to reveal a long, surprisingly well-lit tunnel.

"What… the… fuck?" Eric asks, staring agog out the windows like a wide-eyed kid soaking in the sight of christmas lights. " _What the fuck, man?_ What the fuck just happened?"

"Before I tell you that, you've got a couple promises to make," Roy tells him. Truth be told, he's taking _way_ too much delight in all this, but the absolutely stunned look on Eric's face is the best thing he's seen in weeks.

"What kinda promise are we talking here?" Eric asks. "Like secret government lab or are we talking aliens?"

Roy can't help but chuckle. "Honestly?" he asks. "There's a little bit of both."

"...Now you're just shitting me," Eric decides aloud. "I'm bein' trolled. You got a camera hidden in the dash or what?"

He actually starts looking for tech in the air vents and Roy lets out a bark of a laugh at that. "Yeah, I built a secret tunnel under the city just to punk you. That's what I did."

"You're sayin' you didn't, right?" Eric asks skeptically.

"Of course I'm saying I didn't," Roy replies, looking at him like he's lost his mind.

"Man, rich people do crazy shit!" Eric accuses, throwing his hands up in the air. "How am I supposed to know? You all get bored and build yourself a damned James Bond lair just to live action roleplay shit!"

The amusement that falls over Roy is a wry one. Kid's smarter than he lets on sometimes.

"Now that," Roy says, finally pulling his truck into a small underground parking lot, "might be closer to the truth."

He unbuckles, unlocks the door and steps out to find Eric still sitting, seat belt still fastened, staring at him like maybe he's grown another head.

"You coming or are you too worried about aliens?" Roy asks.

"Should I be?" Eric questions, both of his eyebrows shooting up.

"No, definitely not," Roy tells him before pausing. "Well… probably not, anyhow."

Eric couldn't look more wary if he tried, but he does unbuckle himself and get out of the car. He glances quickly at the other vehicles in the lot - a red Jeep, two SUVs, and the most nondescript sedan in existence - as if they might offer up some kind of clues.

"Dude, what the hell is this?" Eric asks as Roy walks over to a keypad next to a door. It's the only thing in the parking lot aside from cars, lighting and concrete walls. "Illuminati headquarters or government blacksite or what?"

"No," Roy says, pressing his palm against the keypad and leaning forward to allow a sudden second device that's popped out of the wall just above it to scan his eye. It doesn't take but an instant before the lock chirps and a light overhead turns green.

"ARGUS keeps those somewhere else," Roy continues as the door behind him slides open. "This is The Arrow's headquarters."

He doesn't wait for any kind of response from Eric. He doesn't need to watch the look of shock on the kid's face. Instead, he walks into the lair, leaving Eric in the garage. It's only the sound of his footfalls echoing for a few moments until Eric's stunned "fucking _for real_?" follows after him.

Roy's grin at that is a little indecent, honestly, but he hasn't had this much fun in a while.

"You might wanna come in before the door shuts and you're stuck out there," Roy calls back. There's a scramble of footsteps after that. "And wipe your damned feet," he adds for good measure.

It's a testament to how thrown Eric really is that he doesn't have any kind of retort. Roy gets it, though. He still remembers the first time he saw the Arrow Cave and that incarnation had been a whole lot less extensive than this one.

It had also been less populated.

"Roy…" his brother-in-law greets from a large table everyone has gathered around to look at projections of some kind of topographical map. His smile is tight, inauthentic. It's his 'politician smile,' as Thea likes to call it. "You forget to make a stop on your way?"

At that, Roy glances back at Eric and realizes that despite her persuading him to _bring_ the kid, Thea had not informed her brother of their plans.

"Ah…" he says, glancing at the others around the table. "Thea wanted me to…"

His voice trails off because it's clear Oliver understands what he was getting at. When Thea meddles, she always gets her way. And it's beyond both Oliver and Roy to deny her anything. Especially lately.

"She say why?" Oliver asks.

She had, in fact. Eric needs someone right now and she thinks Roy needs someone who really knows him, outside of just the Queens. But he doesn't want to get into all of that in front of everyone, so instead he says "yeah, we'll talk later."

"Doesn't matter," Oliver sighs, glancing at the kid again. "Pretty sure I know."

"Shit, this is for real?" Eric asks, barely louder than a whisper.

"Very real," Oliver informs him. "Take a seat. Try not to touch anything sharp."

"That's what I said!" Roy announces. He's kind of ready to pat himself on the back. The others don't look as amused. "Sorry. Where are we at?"

"So glad you asked," Felicity says brightly, taking a moment to look over toward Eric where he's perched backwards on her desk chair. "It's good to see you here, Eric. In addition to pointy things, please don't touch any computers. Or anything computer-like. Or anything you think might explode. Basically just don't touch things. That's probably a solid plan."

"Felicity," Oliver says as a gentle prod.

"Right," she self-corrects. "Where we are at is flushed with intel, oh favorite brother-in-law of mine."

"I'm your only brother-in-law," Roy repeats dryly.

"I know," she admits. "It makes that so much less controversial to say, doesn't it? _Anyhow_. Information is something we have in spades right now. Nyssa and Canary warned us of an enormous weapons shipment arriving by - wait for it… airdrop today in Starling City."

" _Airdrop_?" Roy asks.

"Mhmm," Felicity agrees. "Creative, yes. Cost-effective? Not so much. But what they lack in simplicity of plan, they make up for in sheer bulk of goods. We're talking a _huge_ cache being dropped in the national park on the outskirts of town."

"Can't you just alert the FAA?" Roy asks. "Have them intercepted midair?"

"Not unless we want a major military incident over Starling," Oliver replies. "They've got a hundred million dollars worth of high grade military weapons, mostly explosives. There's no way they aren't prepared for that. They'd shoot anyone out of the sky who tried to stop them."

"So we stop it on the ground," Roy surmises. "Who's the pickup?"

"That would be the one piece of intel we _don't_ have confirmed," Felicity tells him, drawing up a few very familiar faces. "There aren't a lot of players in Starling with that kind of capital. Bratva wouldn't waste the resources here. Triad is too gutted to try. The one-time Bertinelli clan has too much in-fighting going on and the Irish are still licking their wounds from the beating they took earlier this year."

Roy had missed that particular crisis, but his eyes flit to his nephew unwittingly. He's kind of surprised to see Will there, but it definitely belies how serious everything is. He's a lot _more_ surprised to see Ellie is not in Arrow headquarters. She'd probably live here if she could, in spite of not being allowed to contribute.

"Who's that leave?" Roy asks.

"ARGUS," Oliver says simply.

Roy's eyes bug out. "Excuse me?"

"Proof or not, that's who it is," Lyla says, speaking up for the first time. "Waller's been cementing her position and using it for her own means for years. She's mostly left us alone, but it's been decades since she was anything resembling an ally."

The severity of this situation is not lost on Roy. He knows what ARGUS is capable of.

"You think Amanda Waller is turning ARGUS into her own personal paramilitary force and you want _us_ to intercept the weapons drop?" Roy asks, looking back at Oliver. "How does that end without all of us dead?"

"Man, you picked a shit day to pretend it's take your kid to work day," Eric mutters.

"Every day's like this," Will tells him. "You should've seen last Thursday."

"Waller's a different level," Roy retorts, cutting off whatever snarky response Eric had been preparing to volley back. "What's your plan?"

"Biggest advantage we have is that Waller doesn't know that we know she's the buyer," Oliver informs him. "As long as we cut off the shipment without implicating her, we'll be fine."

"She has four operatives in town," Lyla begins.

"That we know of," Roy interrupts.

" _Please_ ," Lyla drawls. "She has _four_ operatives in town. If none of them can make the pickup before the shipment is destroyed, we won't have our hands in this at all."

"That's a big 'if,'" Roy notes. "And Waller is gonna know it's us even if she doesn't have proof."

"It is and she will," Oliver admits grimly. "Leave Waller to me. She's a problem for later. But for now you, Lyla and I are going to head to the drop site to ensure the shipment is destroyed. Whatever happens, we can't let Waller get those weapons. Will and Felicity will run things from here."

"Two people on comms?" Roy asks in surprise.

" _One_ person on comms," Felicity corrects, pointing at Will before gesturing back toward herself. "And one person performing incredible hacks at blinding speed… that'd be me, in case that wasn't clear."

"I didn't think it was gonna be Will," Roy deadpans.

"I'd be insulted, but that's pretty undeniable," Will notes.

"Spartan, Cynisca and… and _Ellie_ are out right now creating distractions," Oliver adds.

"You let _Ellie_ in the field?" Roy asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

"She's not out there shooting arrows and throwing darts," Felicity clarifies. "Call this a test run. Her car 'broke down' in front of the one guy's driveway. She's playing hysterical teen while she blocks him in."

"You think an ARGUS agent isn't gonna recognize Ellie Queen?" Roy questions.

"I think my newly minted facial and voice reconfiguration mask will make absolutely sure the guy doesn't have a clue who she is," Felicity says proudly. "Same with Spartan. He's in position to create one hell of a traffic jam that'll create some huge delays on the west side of town. Should hold up the other three for at least an extra forty minutes. I'll be playing with the lights a bit to help that along."

"Cynisca is already scouting out the drop site," Lyla adds.

"When's it supposed to happen?" Roy asks.

"Fifteen minutes," Oliver says, checking his watch. "We need to head out."

"Yeah we do," Roy agrees, moving toward where his rarely-used suit sits on a mannequin and grabbing it before looking at Eric. "Really," he says. "Just don't move. Don't touch anything. I'll be back."

It takes an hour and a half, but that ultimately proves true.

Despite the many, many potential problems that could have arisen, everything goes as smoothly as possible. No one is hurt. The weapons wind up destroyed by a 'still smoldering campfire,' thus ensuring they stay out of Waller's hands or anyone else's. And other than a few acres of badly burned forestland and a really blindingly bright impromptu fireworks show, there really isn't a downside.

For now.

Waller will be a problem again in the future. Her ambitions have ensured that much without question. But, today is a win. And Roy would be lying if he said he wasn't preening a bit at the look of awe in Eric's face as he strode back into headquarters, in full gear.

"Pretty sure that's not where I left you," Roy says gruffly, hanging up his bow and shrugging off his jacket. It's nitpicky. Eric's kept himself out of trouble, it seems, and really that was the point. But Roy can't help snarking at the kid, given half a chance.

"Hacker Momma needed the chair," Eric replies, thumbing toward Felicity.

She blinks back at him in amusement. "Hacker Momma?" she questions.

Eric just shrugs in response, but he's quickly distracted by the last few team members straggling in.

If he'd been thinking about it ahead of time, Roy probably would have seen trouble coming. He likely would've had a nice little chat with Thea's protege and headed this off at the pass. But he hadn't really prepared for bringing Eric to Arrow headquarters and some things had slipped through the cracks.

This is definitely one of them.

" _Woah_ ," Eric announces loudly.

Roy turns to see Sara and Ellie walking toward the center of the room. His head jerks back toward Eric so quickly that he might wind up with a neckache tomorrow.

" _No_ ," Roy snaps at the kid, but it's way too late for that. Eric isn't listening to him at all right now and he pushes off the wall he'd been leaning against to head over toward the girls. "Eric!"

"Hey there," Eric announces with devil-may-care smirk as he looks Sara Diggle up and down.

Roy doesn't need to see the look on Ellie's face to realize this is going to be a trainwreck of a situation very quickly.

"I don't believe we've met," Eric says. "Pretty sure I'd remember you."

"That makes one of us," Sara retorts dryly, pulling off her dark orange domino mask and giving him a look that clearly says she finds him lacking.

Eric being Eric, he's not dissuaded in the least.

Roy groans and puts his head in his hands. He should've know this would happen. He forgets sometimes that Sara isn't a little girl anymore. She still looks so very young to him. But she's twenty now - the same age as Eric - and of _course_ the punk kid was gonna be drawn to a pretty girl wearing skintight leather. The fact that she could definitely kick his ass probably just counts as a bonus in his book.

"Ouch. I'm wounded," Eric replies, clasping his hands over his heart.

"Not yet," Ellie says darkly.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Eric replies, looking toward Ellie. "You're not my type."

"Not your _type_?" Ellie asks, her eyebrows shooting up in astonishment. "Are you even for real?"

"I'm the realest thing there is," Eric tells her. "You're cute and all, but you're kind of on the young side. And you seem a bit high-strung."

"High-strung?" Ellie squeaks, more visibly pissed off by the second. Her hands clenching into tight fists.

"Yikes," Eric winces. "Try not to tense up so much. You're gonna hurt something."

"I absolutely am," Ellie agrees.

"No mortal injuries in the headquarters," Oliver interrupts as Ellie takes a step toward Eric. "You know the rules. And you know how important it is to _follow_ them."

"You know it's sorta fucked up you gotta make that a rule, right?" Eric asks.

"Kid, you probably don't want to be sassing me right now," Oliver tells him.

"You know what they say," Eric shrugs. "'To thine own self be true."

"Who says that?" Oliver asks.

"Shakespeare," Felicity tells him.

"I never read-"

"What do you say?" Eric interrupts, fully ignoring the adults in the room and looking back at Sara. "Wanna show me some of your moves?"

"I would," Sara replies with a sharp sigh. "But you heard the house rules."

"Maybe you an' I could take it somewhere else then?" Eric replies.

"Like the hospital?" Sara suggests.

It strikes Roy suddenly that despite her snark and dismissal, there's something playful about Sara in this exchange. She's enjoying herself. So is Eric, in spite of being turned down repeatedly. Ellie, however… Ellie looks like she's about to put her fist through a wall. Or Eric's face.

"Honey, if you wanted to play doctor, all you had to do was ask," Eric grins.

"What the hell is he even _doing_ here?" Ellie demands loudly. "You aren't on the team, Eric. We don't trust you. We barely _know_ you. Whose brilliant idea was it for you to pop up at headquarters in the middle of a crucial mission?"

"Thea's," Roy answer simply. That takes the bite out of Ellie's fight, anyhow. Much like her father, there's very little that Ellie won't agree with for Thea's sake.

"She has a point, though," Oliver notes, wiping his face with a towel and tossing it to the side before heading over to the young trio and squaring off with Eric. "I don't think I have to tell you that you can't tell anyone about this."

"Nah, but I bet you're gonna anyhow," Eric says, swiping at his own mouth and firming his stance.

"Do you know why you're here?" Oliver asks. "Why you're _really_ here?"

"Cause Thea thought I needed a babysitter," Eric replies.

"Because Thea's decided you're family," Oliver corrects.

For once, Eric is uncharacteristically quiet at that. A wariness spreads across his face as he waits for Oliver to continue and Roy… Roy sucks in a solid breath as he realizes that Oliver is right.

"This isn't just a team," Oliver tells him. The gravity in his voice belies the seriousness of his words. "This is a family. Thea didn't want you here to be babysat. She wanted to make clear to everyone who you are to her… and what she wants you to be to us."

Roy's head is positively spinning at that and he finds himself blinking hard as he looks off to the side because every single word Oliver has said is correct. And _God_ he'd give anything for Thea to be well enough to be here today, too. He can just imagine the look of pride on her face as everything registers in Eric's head. She cares about this kid so much…

"I don't need to warn you about telling anyone about the team," Oliver continues. "Because she just made you part of it. Now… stop hitting on Sara and grab a spare bow."

"What?" Eric asks, looking stunned.

"I'm guessing you've never shot one," Oliver adds as if Eric hadn't spoken at all.

"Nah," Eric says, before licking his lips and turning more serious. "I mean… no. They had a class at the Y but I never took it."

"Better to start from scratch than fix fundamentals you learned wrong," Oliver says approvingly. "Roy, you coming?"

"Huh?" Roy asks, looking at his brother-in-law with still-stunned confusion.

"We're gonna teach your boy to shoot," Oliver tells him, shouldering his quiver and tilting his head toward a few practice bullseyes on the far side of headquarters. "I figured you'd want a hand in that."

Eric's face, for all his bravado, is full of anxiety. He's so used to being alone, to being left behind. And this exposes him in a potentially painful way. He's waiting for Roy to reject him, to say he's not interested, that Eric's not his problem. He _expects_ it, Roy realizes. He knows that because he's been exactly in Eric's shoes, many, many years ago now.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Roy agrees.

"Okay," Eric nods. He can't hide how happy and surprised this had made him, but he's sure as hell gonna mask it with a joke anyhow. He wouldn't be Eric if he didn't. "But the minute you all put an apple on top of my head, I'm bailing. Arrow and Arsenal or not, I can't have you messing with my hair. The ladies love these locks."

"Sure they do," Sara snorts. "Keep telling yourself that."

Eric just winks at her before grabbing a bow from the wall and heading over toward Oliver with the biggest smile Roy's seen on the kid in months. This might be good for him, Roy realizes as he joins the two men and clasps Eric's shoulder tightly in greeting. It might be good for all of them.


	56. November 2014

A/N - Having read much further in the story, obviously you all know that Jules is fine. But you should be warned that there is fear surrounding the possibility of a late-term miscarriage here. It may be a sensitive subject for some readers. There is nothing graphic at all, but there is a sense of overwhelming fear for the characters involved. Please read with care. As always, those choosing not to read are welcome to message me to fill in the gaps on what they might have missed.

 **November 2014**

"We should talk about it."

Felicity's laugh is so bitter that the taste of it sours her tongue. She feels more like crying than laughing right now and that's not even the pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on her system.

"Oliver," she says, leaning back against the hospital bed. The paper crinkles beneath her and sticks to the backs of her thighs as she shifts. "I don't even know where to start."

Her arm is drawn across her eyes, as if she could block out the world just by limiting her vision. But she hears her boyfriend swallow heavily anyhow and he grips her hand with shaking fingers. Adrenaline or fear still racing through his veins is anyone's guess - probably both - but he's clearly rattled to his core.

"Start with Julianna," he says, his voice breaking on their unborn baby's name. "Has she kicked? Since…" He stops and exhales an unsteady breath before continuing. "Have you felt her move?"

Felicity lets her arm fall away from her face so she can look at Oliver, but she finds her voice. The answer he wants to hear is not one she can honestly give and anything else is just too terrifying to say aloud. Instead, she pinches her lips together and gives the smallest shake of her head. There's no helping the tears leaking from her eyes and she doesn't try to stop them. She doesn't swipe them away either. Instead she grips Oliver's hand harder and tries not to give in to panic.

"Doesn't mean anything," he says in a near whisper, staring at their hands as he runs his thumb across the backs of her knuckles. "She usually naps around now anyhow. It's gonna be fine."

He doesn't sound like he's convinced himself, much less her. It's only been months since they lost Ellie. She can't possibly fathom how they would get through losing Julianna, too.

"I'm so scared," she confesses in a rush of breath.

"She's gonna be fine," Oliver says again. His voice is a little stronger this time. "Hey, she _will_. Look at what she's already been through. If she got through everything Malcolm did to the two of you when you weren't even in your second trimester yet, this is going to be fine. She's a strong little girl."

Felicity _wants_ to believe him, but it's hard. A million things can go wrong during a pregnancy and their little girl has already been through so much. Felicity can't help the sense of fear and dread she's starting to drown in.

"She might be," Felicity agrees. "But I'm not."

Oliver looks stunned. Whatever he'd expected her to say, that clearly had not been it. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"I'm not," Felicity says again with a sob and a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not strong. If I were, we wouldn't be here. If I were then I could've _stopped_ him. I could've kept her safe. What kind of a mother can't keep her baby safe?"

"Hey. Hey, _no_ ," Oliver says immediately. He abandons her hand to reach for her face instead. It's gentle, sweet, and loving. It's everything Felicity feels like she doesn't deserve in this moment and it only makes her sob harder. "You're _human_ , Felicity. Even if it sometimes seems like you can think your way out of every problem there is, you're still just one person. You could not possibly have known-"

"I should've known he was _alive_ ," Felicity bites back. It's harsh and raw and borne entirely of terror. "Seriously. I'm this incredible hacker working with an actual superhero and I can't even figure out that my supposedly dead ex-boyfriend is alive after all? How did I miss that? How did I not know? How the hell can you trust me with anything anymore?"

"Don't talk like that," Oliver urges. "I trust you. I trust you more than anyone else in the world. You and John, you're the only two I really trust. You're not perfect, honey. And sometimes the closer you are to something the harder it is to see."

"I spent years dating a cyberterrorist who then kidnapped me and threatened my unborn child's life unless I helped him steal from the government," Felicity clarifies. "I'd say that's a little more than faulty vision."

"You were young and in love," Oliver points out, pulling her hand to his mouth and kissing her inner wrist. "Everyone is a little blind in those shoes. And, looking back on that person is like you're still wearing blinders. Especially since you never actually broke up. You thought he died and you mourned him, Felicity. Of _course_ you didn't think he was capable of this. There is no way that any of this is your fault. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah," she croaks. "I understand you. I just don't believe you."

"Well… maybe we'll have to work on that," he sighs.

"I don't want to work on anything," she says in a quiet voice. "I want to curl up in a ball and be left alone."

"Felicity, I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly.

She blinks at him, brow furrowed and lips parted a little. "I know," she tells him. "I'm not asking you to. I'm just trying to be open about what my instincts want. After last time… After we lost Ellie…"

"Hey," Oliver says, gripping her hand tightly and resting his other palm on her stomach. "Stop rushing ahead. We don't _know_ anything yet. Stop assuming that we're losing Julianna."

"I can't help it," she sniffles. "Oliver…"

"I need to believe she's okay," he tells her, voice raw with emotion. "I need to so that I don't fall apart blaming myself."

That surprises her and it must show because he continues in spite of the fact that she's pretty certain he'd rather not.

"You called me a superhero," he reminds her with a weak short laugh. "If I can't even protect my pregnant girlfriend, what kind of hero am I?"

"The best kind," she says intensely. She needs him to believe this. She _needs_ it and that's her first inkling that really, he might need the same from her. "Oliver… you said I'm only human. Well, you are, too. You never knew Cooper. Barely knew he even existed. How could you have possibly anticipated him kidnapping and threatening me?"

"I couldn't," Oliver agrees. "But I could've found you faster. I could've realized you were in danger. I could've _moved_ faster. I could've been there before he hit you."

"The only one to blame for this is Cooper," Felicity says firmly.

"Well," Oliver says. "Pinning blame on him when I already put an arrow through his eye socket is a whole lot less satisfying."

"Don't tell me you're blaming yourself for that, too?" Felicity ventures, propping herself up on the hospital bed and watching Oliver's features closely.

"No," Oliver counters with a nervous half-smile. "I was a little worried you would, though."

"He targeted our daughter, Oliver," Felicity says decisively. "I can take people threatening me or even you, but our _child_? No. He needed to die. And if you hadn't killed him, I'd have done it myself. As it is, I'm a little frustrated I only got to clock him the one time."

The look on Oliver's face is strange and Felicity can't quite pinpoint what he's thinking. It leaves her unsettled.

"What?" she asks.

"It's nothing," he denies, trying to brush it off.

"Oliver… _what_?" she asks again.

"Just…" he pauses, shakes his head and clears his throat. "For a second there you reminded me of my mother. It was a little jarring."

She had not expected that and it leaves her blinking at him, her features flat and inexpressive. "I genuinely don't know how to take that."

"That's why I didn't want to tell you," Oliver defends.

"You just equated me to _your mother_ ," Felicity says slowly.

"In a good way," he backpedals.

"Oliver… it was about our willingness to kill someone," she points out. "I think your definition of 'good' needs some work."

"Maybe," he allows. "I'm not really one for moral absolutes. I'd say looking out for your child is always good, though. Even if it means you have to do something horrible in the process. I think that's the right choice. Don't you?"

"Yes," she agrees. "I'd do… anything at all for her, really. Or for Ellie. Or, probably one day for Nate, too. And William… I know he's not _mine_ mine, of course. I just mean he's-"

"He's yours, too," Oliver cuts her off. "Every piece of me is yours. And I'm so incredibly glad that you count him as one of our kids."

"Of course I do," she answers. "You're his father, Oliver. I grew up with a single parent. I've been in his shoes, more or less. I understand that loving you means loving him too. I'm just glad it comes so easily. I know that I don't know him all that well yet, but it's effortless with him. He's such a good kid."

"He is," Oliver agrees with a soft nod. "All of our kids will be good kids. And we're gonna love and protect them all... William and _Julianna_ and Ellie and Nate."

Whatever levity had managed to slip into the moment dissolves in an instant, leaving Felicity stressed and worried and just wanting to _know_ so that they can move forward. This limbo… God, this waiting part just sucks. She honestly can't take it much longer, but she also doesn't have a choice.

"I'm so, _so_ scared," she breathes out.

"Yeah," Oliver agrees. "Me too. But I've got to believe she's okay. And I know that we will be, too."

"How?" she asks. "How can you know that? After last time when I just… I _left_ you and-"

"This isn't last time," he cuts her off. "We're building our life together now. We share a home and we have William… some of the time, anyhow. We'll get to have him around more when he and Sam move up from Central City. But the point is that even if the worst happens, I know we'll be okay because neither one of us is ever going to give up on each other or our family… right?"

It's true, she realizes in an instant. As much as her instincts have her wanting to hide, wanting to curl up alone and avoid the world, she also can't see leaving Oliver. Not ever. Not for anything. She's a different person now than she was even just a few months ago and that's not just due to her pregnancy. Every day they're together - even on the hard ones, even when she misses Ellie so much it hurts - she loves Oliver just a little bit more. She'd have thought it impossible, but it's not.

That's special. That's _rare_. And she will never, ever give it up.

"Right," she agrees.

"Good," he smiles, brushing some of her hair away from her face. "Should we talk about something else while we wait for the doctor?"

"Can we talk about the doctor?" she asks. "I mean what kind of hospital leaves a pregnant woman waiting when she's been _kidnapped_ and knocked around. They seriously need to rethink their policies."

"I'll have a word with them," Oliver assures her.

"Good," Felicity grumbles. "Because this is unacceptable. Julianna would be offended if she were, you know, aware."

Oliver chuckles at that and rests his palm on Felicity's belly. He's done this a hundred times, a _thousand_ times, always with a gentle affection that he manages to express so fully, so easily when it comes to his little girl. He's attached to her so easily, easier than Felicity herself. She's entertained thoughts at times, wondered if perhaps this baby is her Ellie-bug, just born earlier. The notion haunts her and she wonders what she'll do if their daughter is born and she looks close enough that she _could_ be Ellie. Will she watch for months, for _years_ looking for those soft blonde curls and faded freckles? For those clever blue eyes and happy little dimples to start to take shape, to become the daughter they lost? She can't decide if she hopes so or not. A big part of her just wants her Ellie back right now, but the idea of holding her breath for years waiting to see if her child is Ellie or someone else entirely feels a lot like sitting in his hospital bed waiting for the doctor.

She's not sure that she could stand it.

"Julianna's that opinionated, you think?" Oliver asks with a grin, stroking across her belly as he speaks.

"Definitely," Felicity replies. "She's our daughter, after all."

"I think she-"

Oliver's voice cuts off abruptly when a solid, brutal kick smacks his hand. Felicity actually sobs aloud as their daughter does it again, making her presence known. The smile Oliver sports seems to span his whole face and his eyes water up visibly as he takes a ragged breath and kisses the spot where his hand had been resting.

"Oh thank God," he breathes against the cheap hospital gown stretched tight across his girlfriend's belly. "You _scared_ us, Julie-bug."

She thumps again in exactly the same spot.

"I've never been so happy to be kicked in the face," Oliver laughs, looking up at Felicity with unadulterated pure happiness.

"Guess she's the sort to do things when she damned well sees fit to," Felicity grins back before looking down at her stomach. "Oops, forget the curse word there, baby girl."

"She's okay," Oliver laughs. "Honey, she's okay."

He rushes up to press his lips to Felicity's in a desperate, giddy kiss of relief. It steals her breath away and leaves her head spinning, like his joy spills right over into her. She soaks it in, sighs against his lips and lets the sense of joy suffuse her being.

"Thank God," Oliver says again when they part, resting his forehead against hers. He can't seem to keep his hand off of her belly. That's okay. She can't either. Her hands bracket where she knows their daughter lays, awake and stretching for more room.

Julianna or Ellie, she doesn't care right now. She just needs her baby girl to be okay, no matter who she is.

"The doctor will still need to do an ultrasound at least," Felicity points out. "Movement is a good sign but it's not everything."

"I know," Oliver says. "I know. But I also know that she's fine. I _feel_ it. Don't you?"

Felicity's not much for going on instinct when science can prove or disprove something, but this will be an exception for her. She smiles and shuts her eyes and lets his sense of certainty magnify her own.

"I do," she agrees. "I really do."

"And she's gonna stay that way," Oliver says. It sounds like a promise. "Because we will always, _always_ be there for her. No matter what."

"Yeah," Felicity agrees, biting her lip and smiling back at him. There's a sense of unity and purpose in this, a new level to their partnership and joint life together. And today, she realizes, this is the moment where she falls just a bit more in love with him yet again. "We will."


	57. August 2034

**August 2034**

The door slams with a sense of finality that echoes through the house, immediately pulling Felicity's attention from the latest quarterly report she's spent her weekend combing through from the comfort of her home office. It's been a quiet Sunday, despite the sudden racket someone is making. Oliver's up in the capital for the day, trying to get support for his latest pet project. Will's spending his day off as a volunteer lifeguard up at Lake Starling. Jules is hanging out with her boyfriend before his show tonight, while Ellie headed to the coast with Sara for the day. And, Nate has a group project he's working on at his friend Matt's house.

In short, no one should be home and the sudden interruption to her workload piques Felicity's curiosity instantly. That's only furthered when she hears a sniffle and the thud of feet rushing up the stairs as fast as they can go.

Reports can wait - that's an easy decision to make - so Felicity stands and rounds her desk before venturing up the stairs, cautious of what she'll find.

Ellie's door is wide open, her giant pumpkin colored cat sprawled across her unmade bed. It yawns at her in a bored way before curling up to go back to sleep, nestled in the sheets. Nate's too is ajar. His space is the antithesis to Ellie's, neat and organized with just one shoe sticking out from under his bed. Jules' door, though… Jules' door is shut. And from behind it, Felicity can hear a muffled sob and the crash of something being thrown.

Indecision wars in Felicity's mind for a moment. She can't know what happened, of course, but she has her suspicions already. Does Jules want to be alone? Does she want company? Would she be intruding if she made her presence known or would it be welcome? Ultimately, the need to be there for her little girl wins out and Felicity gives a quiet knock on her older daughter's door.

Everything goes very silent.

"Jules?" Felicity asks, garnering no response. "It's Mom… Well, _obviously_ it's Mom. That's a silly thing to say. Why do I do that? You know my voice by now."

There's a wet snort of laughter on the other side of the door but it quickly shifts to a muffled cry. The desperation that surges through Felicity to help, to make things better, to _fix_ it all for her daughter is the sort of thing she couldn't have understood before becoming a mother, but it's familiar now. She feels it every time she catches Ellie looking longingly at Sara, every time Nate and Oliver just don't quite understand each other, every time she sees the look on Will's face when someone mentions his mother.

It's Jules this time, though. Perhaps it's most often Jules. Felicity has always seen so much of herself in her older daughter. Somehow, she thinks, that makes it harder, makes her feel her own failings just a bit deeper. She just wants to make everything better, change the world and all the people in it so that it's good enough for her children. She supposes every mother feels that way, but especially when it comes to Jules… she just wants _better_ for her.

"Honey, if you don't want to talk, that's fine," she says through the door, leaning her forehead against the smooth wood. "If you do, that's fine, too. But I'd really like to give you a hug either way… if that's alright."

She's not sure if she'll even get a response, but she hears the shuffle of Jules' combat boots against the carpet and the door clicks as she draws it open before immediately diving in for a hug.

Felicity doesn't even catch a glimpse of her. It's just a torrent of dark hair flying at her before Jules buries her nose against her mother's neck and outright sobs into her skin.

Without even thinking about it, Felicity's arms wrap around her little girl and she makes a low hushing nose as she rocks her daughter slightly in her embrace.

In some ways, this feels like things have come full circle. She can remember being in Jules' shoes many years ago, finding comfort in the familiar scent of her mother and the incomparable warmth of her arms. Even during the worst moments of her young life, she can remember feeling secure in her mom's embrace, as if nothing at all could touch her there. Being on the other end of it now, she knows how helpless her mother must have truly felt, whether she was crying over her father leaving or drama at school or a boy breaking her heart. But she hadn't known it then and she hopes for Jules' sake that she doesn't know now.

"I've got you, Julie-bug," she says, kissing her dark hair. "I'm here, okay? I've got you."

Jules nods into her neck but says nothing for a very long while as she cries. But after a bit the tears slow down and she heaves a tremendous sigh. Buster, her loyal dog, sits nearby looking like he's desperately concerned and cannot figure out what he's supposed to do to _fix_ things for his girl.

"Boys _suck_ ," she mumbles into her mom's shoulder. Buster whines at that and licks her hand. "Not _you_ , Buster. You're the exception. Just… human boys."

"Oh, baby," Felicity says, smiling but fully sympathetic as she rubs her daughter's back. "Sometimes they really, really do."

Jules finally pulls back at that and Felicity gets her first good look at her daughter. The poor girl is a total mess. Her eyes are puffy and her nose red with trails of mascara racing down her cheeks.

"Oh, sweetheart," Felicity sighs, rubbing her thumb across Jules' cheek. "Did you and Miles have a fight?"

"We broke up," Jules says with a gulping sob that sets her off sobbing again.

"Hey… hey, you're okay," Felicity assures her, pulling her in for another tight hug. "I know it hurts, but you're gonna be okay, kiddo. I _promise_."

"I just don't _get_ it," Jules wails, pulling back again. "How could he turn out to be _such_ a jackass?"

Felicity bites her tongue at that because pointing out he's always kind of obnoxious would be wholly counterproductive. Instead she says, "Sometimes it takes a while to see who people really are."

"You never liked him," Jules points out, sniffling. "You're probably happy we broke up."

"No," Felicity tells her, offering up a sad smile. "I could never be happy to see you hurting, honey."

Whatever fight Jules might have been gearing up for leaves her on a defeated exhale and she walks over to her bed to plop down heavily on the mattress. Buster immediately goes over and rests his head on his girl's knee and Felicity doesn't even wait for an invitation before joining her and drawing her arm around her little girl, pulling her close. Jules rests her head on her mom's shoulder without protest and it feels like a small victory to Felicity. A year ago she couldn't even _imagine_ Jules doing this, but now she leans on her mother readily.

"You wanna talk about what happened?" Felicity asks, eyeing a pile of snapped records littering the corner of Jules' room. She had to have been _really_ upset to trash her own music. Felicity wonders if maybe these particular albums had been gifts from Miles. Probably, she decides, but doesn't bring it up.

"Did he even ever care about me at all?" Jules wonders aloud. "Or was it always about him? I mean, I poured everything into that relationship. I just… I gave and I gave and I gave and it was never enough, you know? Did that mean _anything_ to him?"

"I can't answer that, baby," Felicity tells her. "Only he can. But in the end, do you know what?"

"What?" Jules asks, glancing up at her mother.

"It doesn't matter," Felicity answers. "If you didn't feel respected, if you felt like he meant more to you than you meant to him, then that's not okay."

"I tried _so hard_ ," Jules bemoans.

"Relationships require effort from both people," Felicity points out. "If he wasn't willing to meet you in the middle, then it was never gonna work."

"It did for a while," Jules points out. "We were really great for a bit."

"New relationships are _easy_ ," Felicity tells her with a smile. "That buzz of infatuation that bubbles up and leaves you giddy? It overwhelms everything for a while. But relationships are more than that and passion can't solve everything."

Jules is quiet as she stares off at nothingness and gives a little nod against her mom's shoulder as she absently scratches her dog behind the ear..

"I just… I hate feeling like this," she whispers. "I'm the one who broke up with him. I know it was the right move. I'm not even sorry I did it. So why does it hurt so badly?"

"Because emotions aren't logical," Felicity points out. "But you won't feel like that forever. Miles might've been your first love, but he won't be your last. I promise you that."

"I feel like a fool," Jules whispers at the wall. "I feel so _dumb_ for thinking it meant more."

"Oh sweetie," Felicity sighs, rubbing Jules' shoulder. "That's not dumb. It's human."

"It _sucks_ ," Jules notes.

"Yeah, whoever said that whole 'tis better to have loved and lost' thing was totally not at the initial breakup stage," Felicity agrees.

Jules grunts in quiet agreement but says nothing. She just sniffles and keeps staring at the wall, rubbing her reddened nose again the back of her hand.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Felicity asks again. "You don't have to, but it might make you feel a little better than keeping it bottled up."

Jules sighs and looks up at her mother with a sheen of embarrassment. "His van broke," she says.

That explains little in Felicity's head and it must show because Jules heaves a tremendous sigh and sits up straighter before continuing.

"The band needs it for gigs," she points out. "Shuttling equipment and all. He's always been kinda weird about money, but…"

"He wanted you to pay for his car to get fixed," Felicity realizes aloud.

"Yeah," Jules agrees. "Because ' _the sheltered bourgeoisie feeds on the art and life experience of the working man._ ' Apparently the very least I could do is buy him a new starter… He acted like I _owed_ him just because our family has money."

Felicity doesn't trust her tongue right now so she says nothing, but that's okay because Jules clearly isn't done. Her devastation shifting back to anger again. This'll go on for a while, if Felicity's own experience at her age is any indication, and she makes a mental note to call Oliver just as soon as she leaves Jules.

"And honestly _fuck him_ ," Jules spits out. Felicity says nothing about the language. "Did he ever support _my_ art? Anything at all beyond a 'that's cool babe' about a painting? He never once went to a dance recital. He thought me going to college was 'cute.' All I ever did was support his music. And I never once gave a damn that our dates were cheap or that he lives in his dad's basement."

"It sounds like you were trying to be a good partner to him," Felicity agrees. "He might be older than you, but I'm pretty sure only one of you was ready for a grown up relationship. And it definitely wasn't him."

"Yeah… maybe…" Jules allows, looking down at her hands as she plays with her own fingers.

"It _sounds_ like you already know this, but as your mom I'd be totally remiss if I didn't tell you that you did the right thing. And I'm proud of you for that," Felicity says.

Jules looks up at her with surprise. "You're proud of me for dating and breaking up with a self-absorbed jerk?"

"No," Felicity corrects. "I'm proud of you for realizing you deserve more than someone who's idea of a relationship is using you for their own means and doesn't give you the respect you deserve. Believe me when I say I know how hard that is. You're a whole lot smarter than I was at your age."

Jules snorts at that and looks at her mother as if she's crazy. "Right," she says, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious," Felicity tells her, no trace of a joking tone shading her voice.

"Mom, at my age you were graduating from MIT," Jules points out. "I don't think it's up for debate who's smarter."

"At technology, sure," Felicity agrees. "Not at relationships."

Jules doesn't look like she quite believes her.

"Have I ever told you about my college boyfriend?" Felicity asks.

"...No," Jules says warily. "I'm sort of pretending you had no social life whatsoever before you met Dad."

Felicity barks out a sharp laugh at that. "Well, you're not far off," she agrees. "There were a few years there where my dating life was pretty dismal. But that's what happens when you think the so-called love of your life killed himself in prison."

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Jules squeaks.

"Mmm," Felicity replies, allowing her amusement at Jules' reaction to overwhelm any sense of embarrassment this story might bring up. "Cooper was a lot like Miles. It's always been hard to watch you together because it felt like watching myself making the same mistakes all over again."

"Why didn't you warn me then?" Jules asks.

"Would you have listened?" Felicity questions.

The look on Jules' face immediately confirms that she wouldn't have. "This isn't the kind of lesson you can learn secondhand, sweetheart. Having your heart broken _sucks_. But people like you and me? People who pour their whole selves into a relationship and don't look back? We tend to attract people who will exploit that. At least, we do until we find someone just as dedicated as we are."

"Okay…" Jules says. "Can we go back to the prison part?"

Felicity scoots back a little on the bed and arranges Jules' pillows so she can lean back comfortably before launching into the story.

"Miles tried to take advantage of your wealth. Cooper… Cooper exploited my mind," Felicity tells her. "Way before I met your dad and joined his crusade, I'd already wanted to be a hero. I used my hacking to try and expose government fraud and digitally expose criminals. Cooper stole my work and used it to try and erase student loan debts… later he tried to steal a fortune for his own profit using my creation."

"He got arrested doing that?" Jules asks, curiosity winning out over both her anger and her devastation for the moment.

"The student loan debts, yes," Felicity nods. "I tried to take the blame. I loved him, after all, and it _was_ my computer virus. But he'd already confessed. They told me later that he'd hung himself in prison. It was only when I was pregnant with you that I found out the government had faked his death and recruited him to work for them."

"...Has your life just _always_ been batshit or what?" Jules asks.

Felicity laughs a little at that. "A bit, I guess. I'd say it's pretty perfect these days, though. And even the mess with Cooper brought me to where I am now, so I can't regret it."

"How did you find out he lived, then?" Jules asks.

That's a much harder memory and not one that Felicity really wants to relive, but Jules is asking and right now there's not much that Felicity will deny her.

"When I was pregnant with you, he kidnapped me to try and force me to help him in a massive theft," she says. "He threatened your life to make me cooperate."

"What?" Jules' voice is a little breathless as her eyes search her mother's.

"It was twenty years ago and I can still remember exactly how terrified I was," Felicity admits. "I was six or seven months pregnant with you and he hit me so hard that I went sprawling across the room. I was terrified that I'd lose you. Your dad was, too. And you, my stubborn little girl, decided that was the best possible time for a nap. You didn't kick for _hours_."

"What happened to him?" Jules asks.

"What do you think?" Felicity replies, raising her eyebrows. "I fought him, got in a very solid hit and scrambled away just in time for your father to put an arrow through his head. No one is going to threaten his child and walk away from it, Jules. _No one_."

"I thought he hadn't killed anyone since Malcolm Merlyn and Slade Wilson," Jules says warily.

"Usually he doesn't," Felicity agrees. "But your father and I will always do anything we have to do to keep you and your brothers and sister safe. Cooper wasn't going to stop. He'd have been back and a bigger threat. If your father hadn't killed him, I'd have done it myself."

"You're a little scary sometimes, you know that?" Jules asks.

"We've gotten away from my point," Felicity says instead of replying.

"Which was?" Jules asks.

"I didn't have the sense to break up with Cooper. Not even when he exploited my work and went to jail for it," Felicity tells her. "You're already doing better than I had at your age. You refused to let yourself be used and demanded equal footing in your relationship. Any guy who won't give you that needs to be chucked to the curb immediately. Even though it was hard, you did that. And Jules, honey, I am _so_ proud of you for it."

"Yeah," Jules agrees, biting at her lip as she thinks things through. "I guess I'm kinda of proud of me, too."

"You should be," Felicity tells her.

"I still totally wanna go key his stupid van, though," Jules asserts.

Felicity grins widely at that but says, "Maybe don't do anything he could sue you for."

"I guess," Jules grumbles.

"I've got an idea, though," Felicity tells her, knocking her shoulder against her daughter's. "I think you'll like it."

"You wanna tell me or are you just going to leave me hanging?" Jules asks after a moment.

"Got any more records he gave you?" she asks, nodding toward the pile in the corner.

" _Loads_ ," Jules says. "Including some of his. I was considering a bonfire."

"Oh I have a much more creative idea than that," Felicity replies, rubbing her hands together with glee before hopping up off of the bed. "Gather them up and meet me in the basement."

"Okay… _why_?" Jules asks.

"Because I'm going to toss them into the air while you slice them all with your chain whip," Felicity announces proudly.

The toothy grin that takes over Jules' face feels hard won and Felicity's absolutely internally preening over it. There might still be remnants of mascara trailing down her face and her eyes might be puffy and her hair a mess, but she's offering up a genuine smile and Felicity will take that as a win.

"Sometimes, Mom, you are the absolute best."

The joy that swells up inside Felicity's heart at that is unlike any other. Jules cannot possibly know what a gift that is, but Felicity will cherish that always.

"I try," she grins. "Now come on. Let's shatter some vinyl together. Mother-daughter bonding activity. Then we can discuss how much boys suck over cookie dough. Sound like a plan?"

"Absolutely."


	58. April 2037

**April 2037**

Lately, it seems like no one in the Queen family can get a break. Everything has been… well it's been hard for the last half a year or so. And, Oliver's found himself bracing for whatever comes next because if 2037 has proven anything to him, it's that something _will_ be next.

He misses Thea so much it aches in his chest, like the edges around the space she used to fill can't quite heal. She'd have helped, he knows. She'd have put things in perspective and somehow made them all smile.

Or maybe not. But she would've tried.

Thea's gone, though, has been for two months now. And, try as he might, Oliver can't see much worth smiling about in her absence. Grief and regret are choking things, a vise that wraps around your chest and squeezes until it you might break. He feels that. He sees it too, reflected on the faces of his brother-in-law, his children, his wife, his mother, and Eric, his nephew of sorts. Even knowing it was coming, none of them had been prepared to lose Thea, but they surely weren't ready for her loss to be smack in the middle of a series of gut-wrenching twists to their realities.

More than ever, it's important for Oliver to be near his family. They need him and he needs them. If Felicity calls to tell him that Nate won't stop slamming doors or Jules won't come out of her room or she's worried about Will, he wants to be close at hand. So, he's working out of his Starling City office as much as possible these days. Sometimes, he still has to head up to the capital, but given the very public nature of his loss, he finds people are generally willing to make allowances and come to him.

He's grateful for that. It's helped, in some small way.

Of everyone in his family, it's probably Ellie that he's least concerned about right now. She's coped better with Thea's passing than anyone else - used her grief to fuel her professional ambitions of running the charity her aunt started one day - and the other emotional blows to their family these past few months had not been a direct hit on _her_. While Will, Jules and Nate all seem like they might be at various stages of a breakdown, Ellie's been… okay. Not good, exactly, but okay.

Which is why he's utterly thrown when she bursts into his office with wet eyes and a bright red nose, sniffling and wrapping her arms around her middle.

He's out of his chair before she's even stopped. Panic grips him immediately and a dozen worst-case-scenarios race through his head. From her reaction, his thoughts must be obvious.

"We're all okay. I'm sorry," she says in a tumble of rushed words, cutting off his inevitable question. "No one's hurt or anything. It's nothing like that. I just… I'm sorry. This is stupid. I shouldn't have come. I'll just go."

"Ellie," he says sharply as she turns to leave. Oliver's assistant hovers just outside the door, clearly questioning what she's meant to be doing right now and looking at Ellie worriedly.

Ellie glances back at him looking so very young, so hurt and small that it breaks his heart without even knowing why she's so upset. This is his baby girl, his little Ellie-bug, and it doesn't matter if she thinks her reason isn't good enough for disturbing him. It is. Not matter what the issue is, it's fine that she's here. Because she's his daughter and she's hurting and she needs him. That's all he needs to know.

"Shut the door and come here, sweetheart," he tells her gently before glancing quickly to his assistant. "Cancel my afternoon meetings."

Letting out a little sob, Ellie pushes the door closed and barrels into her father's arms. He's waiting to catch her. He'll always catch her. And he really doesn't give a damn that she's absolutely ruining his shirt.

"I've got you. You're okay," he murmurs to her. She shakes her head against his chest, sending a blurry halo of untamed blonde hair swaying back and forth against him. "Whatever it is, we'll work through it, Ellie."

"I feel so stupid," she cries out into his shirt.

Part of him wants to reply that he feels so helpless. He does. Seeing grief on your children's faces does that to a parent. Knowing you can't fix everything or, as it sometimes seems, you can't fix anything for your kids has a way of making a man feel like he's a failure.

Rationally, he knows that's not true. There's nothing he could've done to save Thea. Will's mess is mostly of his own making. He did everything he could to help Nate. And with Jules… well, he'd never seen that particular crisis coming in the first place. But, God, he's so tired of being reactionary, of trying to pick up the pieces for his family only to have them shatter further in his hands.

He needs a _break_. They all do.

"You're not stupid," he promises Ellie, because this is not the time for his own issues. It is clearly the time for hers. "You're clever and kind and beautiful. And I am so very proud that you're my daughter, so I don't want to hear you say that, okay? I don't even want you to think it."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she gulps out, looking up at him.

When was the last time she called him Daddy instead of Dad? He can't even remember. Maybe at Thea's funeral, but that's all a strange blur punctuated by sharp, brutal moments of clarity in his memory.

"Stop apologizing, Ellie," he says, cupping the side of her face and wiping away some tears with his thumb. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Mentally, he's holding his breath as he waits for her answer. Ellie is not prone to hysterics. For her to have this reaction… Well, it's something that's hit her deeply.

But she hesitates, sniffles and looks at the button on the collar of his shirt for a moment as she thinks. When she looks back up a moment later, he hasn't said a word and her wariness is readily obvious.

"I have to," Ellie says. "I need to talk to someone. But you've got to promise me you won't tell Uncle Digg or Aunt Lyla. It's really, really important that you don't. Okay?"

Oliver holds his breath for a moment at her words because he's not certain that's a promise he can make. There is nothing he won't do for his own children but if Sara - and he knows this is about Sara - if Sara is doing something dangerous, he has to tell Digg and Lyla. He'd expect the same from them if it were any of his kids.

"It's nothing _bad_ ," Ellie assures him, as if reading his thoughts. "I just don't know if she's told them, okay? You can't go telling them because it's not yours to tell. Do you understand that?"

Theoretically, he gets it. Even without the specifics. He understands that there are just some truths that belong to a person and revealing them to others before they're ready is a grave misstep.

"If it's not putting Sara's life or health in danger, I won't say a word," he vows. "But if it is, I have an obligation as a parent, a team leader and her parents' friend to do my best to protect her, even if that means informing Digg and Lyla of something she'd rather they not know."

Ellie sighs and rolls her eyes. "It's nothing like that. You can be such a _dad_ sometimes. She's not hurting herself or doing drugs or anything destructive."

"Okay," Oliver says easily, rubbing a hand up and down Ellie's back in soothing strokes. "Then I won't say anything."

"Promise?" Ellie asks again, searching his eyes for something. They plead with him, those pretty blue eyes of hers, desperately seeking reassurance.

"Ellie, I promise," he replies sincerely. "If you want, I'll even promise not to tell your mother. You need someone to talk to, that much is obvious. I want to be that person for you, no matter what."

His not-quite-nineteen year old gives a beleaguered sigh, her shoulders drooping. "You've always been that person for me," she notes quietly.

"Good," he echoes, feeling proud of himself as a parent for the first time all day.

"Sara has a date," Ellie follows up quietly with a little mournful sob.

She's staring at his chest again, her hands in little fists against his shoulders. Even without looking, he can feel her rubbing her thumb against her forefinger like he does when he can't quite work something through.

"I'm sorry, honey," he tells her. "I know that's hard for you. Is she serious about this guy or…"

He lets his voice trail off as he stares down at the top of her head. Sara's not exactly new to dating and Ellie has coped alright with it so far, so this is all throwing him a little as he tries to figure out what's different this time.

"You don't understand," Ellie protests with a gulping, shuddering wail as she looks up at her father with red-rimmed watery eyes. "It's not a guy."

Oh.

 _Oh_ …

"Sara's dating a girl?" he asks. It's a somewhat unnecessary question, but the need to confirm it burns on his tongue.

"Her name's Gabriella," Ellie sobs. "They've been friends for like a year. And she's gorgeous and funny and perfect and I hate her. I _hate_ her. If I hear one more word about her amazing stupid self, I'm going to stab myself in the ears so I don't have to listen."

"She sounds horrible," Oliver consoles.

"Dad…" Ellie whines. She actually stomps her foot at that and gives him a petulant, childish glare.

"No really," he continues, ready to commit to this line of thought. "Perfection is the _worst_. Never date a perfect person. They're impossible."

"You're not helping," she informs him. She's not actively sobbing right now though, so he doesn't believe her.

"It's true," he continues. "All kidding aside, the only time you think someone is perfect is before you get to know them."

"Are you saying Mom isn't perfect?" Ellie challenges, raising her eyebrows like he might possibly have just unknowingly declared war.

He hasn't. He knows his wife well enough to recognize her flaws and she's well aware of that fact. It's part of what makes their marriage work. But Ellie… maybe Ellie needs to see that.

"Your mother snores. She can't cook to save her life. She says twice as much as she means to when she's excited or nervous. She likes to stick her very cold feet on me a night. And she is surprisingly vindictive when someone wrongs a person she cares about," Oliver rattles off. "She's not perfect. She's perfect _for me_ , but she's not a perfect person. I know that because I know her. Because I love her and we've been together for more than twenty years. It sounds like that's something Sara hasn't figured that out yet."

"That or she'll _always_ think Gabriella is perfect and they'll get married and live happily ever after while I watch from the sidelines," Ellie says, looking painfully crestfallen.

She's all dejection again. This bitterness against Sara's girlfriend, though… that's the easier part of this conversation for Ellie. Being mad is less introspective than being hurt. And disliking Gabriella demands less of Ellie than recognizing she feels passed over. Oliver sees it coming and there's no doubt that her own sense of inadequacy will be the hardest part of all of this for self-sure Ellie Queen.

"Perfection doesn't last, sweetheart," he assures her. "Now I'm not saying they won't figure things out. I don't know that. But the way it is right now? That won't last. It can't."

"She says she didn't even know she _liked_ girls," Ellie mopes, picking at the edge of his collar. "She's not even sure she does or if it's just _Gabriella_ because she's so amazing."

"It sounds like she has a lot to figure out," Oliver notes quietly. "She's gonna need time and space to do that, you know. And her best friend to lean on."

"I know," Ellie sighs. "But I don't want to be her best friend anymore. It's not enough. And this… Daddy, this _hurts_."

"Yeah, I know it does, Ellie-bug," he agrees, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "I know."

"Why isn't it me?" she asks.

It's the question he's been waiting for from her and her voice makes his heart ache. She sounds so broken, so small and weak. It's a far cry from the confident young woman he's loved and raised all these years. And he just wants to fix it all for her, to see her smile and bring back that sweet, sunny disposition she's so prone to.

"When I thought she just liked boys, that was different," Ellie continues, her face still pressed to his chest. "It still hurt, but it wasn't about me. If she likes girls but she doesn't like me, then it's just… it's just that she doesn't like _me_. That hurts so much it's hard to breathe. Why aren't I enough? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," he insists immediately, pulling back a little and cradling her face in his hands. "Elizabeth, honey, _nothing_ is wrong with you. You're perfect just as you are."

"I thought perfect didn't exist?" she challenges.

"It doesn't," he agrees, letting his hands fall away from her face to rub up and down her upper arms with warmth and reassurance. "You, my Ellie-bug, are ambitious to an infuriating degree. Sometimes you forget the moment that you're in because you're so focused on the future. You are brave to the point of foolhardy. You have even colder feet that your mother and you're just as cruel with them. And you, my sweet little girl, like tomato on your peanut butter sandwiches-"

"That's delicious," she interrupts, wholly offended.

"It's not," he corrects, unwilling to negotiate the disgusting nature of her peanut butter habits. "But the point is that you aren't perfect. And, Ellie, I wouldn't change a thing about you if I could. Not even the peanut butter thing, because I love all those ridiculous things about you. And someday you're going to find someone that you want to spend your life with that feels the same way."

"But why isn't it Sara?" she demands. It's the one question he can't answer and deep inside she has to know that, but he still wishes he could twist it all to make sense, to be exactly what she wants. "Why doesn't she _see_ me? I'm right here, Dad! I've loved her my whole life and it's like she hasn't even looked at me."

"Maybe she hasn't," Oliver suggests. "It sounds to me like Sara has a lot to figure out. She's young. You've been so sure of yourself for your entire life, Ellie. Most people don't have that luxury."

"I guess," she acknowledges, looking down to her feet.

"I _know_ ," Oliver corrects, squeezing her arms lightly. "And you do, too, if you think about it. How many kids are sure about the love of their life by the time they're a teenager? How many know what job they want or what life-long goals they'll have that young? You've had your life mapped out forever and you've never varied from your path. Not even a little. You have to know how rare that is."

"Yeah," Ellie sighs. "It is."

"What Sara needs from you is support, Ellie," he tells her. "Support and time. Your friendship is so important to her. Probably more than ever right now, she needs you on her side. Protecting yourself is important, but don't let her feel like you're cutting her off because of this."

"So what do I do?" she asks, shrugging her shoulders and stepping back. "How do I sit there and be happy for her and support her when my heart is shattered?"

That's a tricky question and Oliver sighs, taking a moment to think it through before answering. "Have you thought about telling her how you feel?" he asks.

Ellie turns as white as a sheet. "Definitely not doing that," she eeks out in a horrified tone.

"I think she'd understand," Oliver counsels. "And it would give an explanation to her about why this is hard for you."

"Telling my best friend I've been in love with her forever while she's gushing over her brand new girlfriend is not a plan I'm sold on, Dad," Ellie breathes out. "How can that possibly go well?"

"If you want space without hurting her, I think that's how you get it," he clarifies. "Otherwise, you need to act like you're fine with her girlfriend and be there for her when she wants to talk. That or you lose her entirely and hurt her in the process."

"So I have to fake a smile," she decides, pressing a hand to her forehead and rubbing at the fine lines of her brow.

"Now and then," he agrees. "But I'm always here to talk when you need to vent and let your hair down. Your mother is, too, you know."

"With everything else going on, this seems… selfish to focus on," Ellie admits.

"Feelings aren't selfish, Ellie," he replies. "They're human. You're entitled to be hurt and nothing anyone else is going through diminishes that."

"Thank you, Dad," she smiles weakly.

"Have you thought about dating someone else?" he asks. "I know how you feel about Sara, but maybe sitting around waiting for her to wise up and see you for the amazing, loving, beautiful, brilliant young woman you are isn't the best plan."

"No," Ellie admits. "But maybe I should. I haven't even been on a date in the last year. Not since I broke things off with Chrissy."

"You wanted too much for Chrissy to be Sara," Oliver points out. "That was never going to work. Maybe you need to find a girl you like just for who she is instead of who you think she could be."

"Yeah, maybe," Ellie agrees. "There's a girl in my macroeconomics class who's kind of flirty. There are definite signals. She seems nice and she's really pretty. If it weren't for Sara…"

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you need to take Sara out of the equation, honey," Oliver tells his daughter. "I would be thrilled if she loved you as much as you love her. There is nothing I want more for you than that. But Sara's still figuring things out for herself. If you want to wait for her to do that, then wait. But life is short... It is too damned short sometimes, as I've been reminded of lately. And, I think there's no harm in exploring your options a bit because who knows what Sara will decide or when. Don't put your life on hold indefinitely for a chance of a maybe."

"Yeah," Ellie echoes, mulling his words over. "I just hate giving up."

"I know," Oliver agrees. "You always have. But relationships take two people, Ellie. I think you owe it to yourself to spend a little time getting to know some other girls. Find what flaws make them perfect, too."

"God, you're such a sap," she rolls her eyes.

"I thought that was very sound advice," he huffs.

"Doesn't mean you're not a sap," she tells him.

"Well, maybe you bring out my sappy side, then," he shrugs. "Do you know what we need now?"

"A private investigator to track down all of Gabriella's secrets and hold them over her head?" Ellie asks hopefully.

"No," Oliver protests, pulling a face. "You're a little diabolical sometimes, you know that?"

"I come by it honestly," she retorts plain-faced.

"What we need now is ice cream," he continues. "Minimum two scoops each. With hot fudge."

"In a chocolate-dipped waffle cone?" she tests.

He walks over and grabs his suit jacket off of the back of his chair, tossing it over his arm before going to his daughter's side and wrapping an arm around her. He presses a kiss into her hair and smiles. He can't give her Sara, but he can give her this - one of the strongest bonds he's ever known.

And ice cream.

"With sprinkles and whipped cream, too," he agrees. "My treat."

"Alright, Dad, you're on," she nods up at him, looping an arm around his waist. "But if this is something we're gonna do every time I cry over girls, maybe we go somewhere with a frequent shopper card."

"Yeah," he nods, meeting her eye with a bit of a wince. "That was already in the plan."


	59. February 2035

**February 2035**

If she's being entirely honest, Jules' first thought when she meets the photographer that the dance company's advertising agency sends out is that he's on the wrong side of the camera. The guy is _hot_ , but it's not even just that. It's his expressive smile that he offers up so readily, so genuinely that really strikes her from the moment he extends his hand to shake hers and says "Hey, I'm Jackson. It's good to meet you."

Attraction is instant and it feels a little dangerous. She's not looking for a guy in her life right now. After breaking things off with Tyler, her former T.A., just a month and a half ago, quitting school and finally starting her career, now feels like the worst possible time to get involved with anyone.

But that doesn't make him any less appealing.

"What kind of shots are you thinking?" she asks.

"A headshot for the bio page on the website," he tells her. "And a few shots of you dancing would be great. We could use them to refresh the header on the site. It's been a while."

"Okay," she agrees with a nod. "That sounds simple enough."

In spite of the fact that she's wearing a skin-tight dance leotard, he keeps his eyes on her face while they talk. It's refreshing and ups her opinion of him a few notches immediately.

"Just pretend I'm not even here," he instructs, fiddling with his camera for a moment before looking up at her with a soft smile. "It's just you and the stage, okay? I'm here to capture it. That's all."

There's something reassuring about that, she thinks as she makes her way to the stage and stretches a bit to loosen up her muscles. She intentionally takes longer than she needs, wondering if Jackson will tell her to hurry it up. But he doesn't. It's unfortunate because she's actively looking for a flaw, something to make him just a little unattractive, but there's nothing. Even the way his ears stick out a little more than they should just seems cute. And when she looks at him and asks "Ready?" and he answers "Whenever you are," his bright-white, wide smile makes her heart do a little flip of excitement.

It's a _problem_. She decides right then and there she's just going to have to be as professional as possible and hope he doesn't have an interest in her. Cute, professional and respectful is awfully appealing and a girl's got her limits.

But she has a job to do and so does he. So, she dances. There isn't music right now, but she doesn't need any. She just closes her eyes and loses herself in the movements she knows by heart.

The shutter of his camera clicks rapidly, but she really doesn't take note of it. She's too busy pouring everything she has into her craft. Art and dance are always where Jules has felt most at home. It's all emotion and storytelling, uninhibited by clumsy words or self-censorship. Expression has always come easiest to Jules through her art and it shows.

Lighting shifts a few times as she dances and Jackson shuffles around the stage, angling for a better view for his camera, but she carries on as if he's not even there, just as he'd instructed.

It's only after she's been dancing for a solid fifteen minutes that she realizes the shutter clicks ended some time ago.

She stops and casts her eyes at the photographer. He's sitting in the front row with his arms resting on his knees, camera dangling from his fingers.

"You stopped," she notes with a quirk of her head. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Nah," he tells her with a lopsided grin. "I finished. I just thought I'd watch you dance for a few minutes."

The bastard has the nerve to blush sheepishly at that and scratch at the back of his neck.

Jules finds herself rooted in place on the stage, breath caught in her throat and heart going faster than it should. She doesn't know this guy at all, met him not more than half an hour ago, but she can't help thinking back to Miles and Tyler. Had either of them ever shown an inkling of interest in her work? Miles surely hadn't, she realizes. Not once had he come to one of her dance recitals and his interest in her painting had amounted to asking if she'd take a crack at their next album cover. Tyler had been a little better, but only about her painting and it had never once come off as genuine. Dance, he'd said, was a distraction from her real talent with a canvas and a brush. And his praise of her painting had always, _always_ been an attempt to get in her pants. She hadn't taken him seriously once.

But this guy… Jackson…

She shakes her head and sighs, trying to rid herself of this troubling train of thought where she's holding a guy she just met up against her old boyfriends.

"Was there anything you wanted me to do again that you didn't get a good shot of?" she asks.

"There was, actually," he says, pushing off of his knees and standing up, moving to the stage. "You did where you jumped in the air and one leg was bent and your back arched. I don't know what it's called, I'm sorry. But the lines you made were gorgeous and I wasn't ready to take the shot from a good angle."

His wording makes her pause and she bites her lower lip and nods at him a moment before saying, "The lines I made were gorgeous?"

"Yeah," he agrees brightly, standing just a couple feet in front of her on stage. "You're a really gifted dancer, Julianna. You make this job seem easy."

That floors her a bit, but she manages to say, "Well, maybe you're just a really great photographer then."

He smiles and looks bashfully down at his toes before glancing back up at her. "Don't say that until you've seen the shots."

"Oh… I don't really doubt that they'll be good," she informs him before licking her lips and looking away. "I'll do 'that jump with the gorgeous lines' a few times right over there, okay?"

She looks back for confirmation to find him staring at her a little more intensely than she'd expected.

"Yeah, can I just…" he starts, gesturing toward her ear.

"What?" she asks in confusion.

He raises his eyebrows like he's asking permission or maybe letting her know he'll understand if she stops him, but he reaches out with one hand and untucks a strand of hair she'd put behind her ear. Loosely, he twines it around his finger for a second right next to her face before clearing his throat and stepping back, his cheeks bright red.

"Sorry," he tells her nervously. "Much better shot without it behind your ear. You look… you look really beautiful."

She's frozen in place at that, eyes wide and breathing a little too shallowly, a little too fast. He's so _earnest_ , so open and even though this is a professional meeting, she's never felt quite so appreciated by a guy before.

"Thank you," she returns quietly.

"You're welcome," he replies, looking a little embarrassed that he's said that much. But she doesn't doubt that he meant it. She also doesn't doubt that the attraction goes both ways.

But that doesn't mean she's going to do anything about it.

She's not.

This is the actual worst timing ever to fall for a guy. She doesn't need that in her life right now and as much as something about him calls to her, she really doesn't want it right now, either.

"Okay…" she mumbles, looking away and recentering herself. "Let's do this."

She does _that move_ a few times and he takes a lot of shots. More than he needs, undoubtedly, but a little voice in the back of her head tells her that it's nice. She likes being the focus of a handsome man's attention, after all. _Especially_ when he's enthralled by her art. That's a new feeling and it's dangerously intoxicating.

"I think we're probably good," he tells her after a few minutes.

The disappointment that socks her in the gut at the words is really kind of silly.

She nods and walks to the side of the stage, grabbing the yoga pants and sweatshirt she'd worn over her leotard to the concert hall and slipping them on. Jackson, being possibly the most polite man she's ever met, has the grace to look away as she dresses… as if he hadn't just taken a hundred pictures of her wearing far less.

"I hope you got some usable pictures," she tells him, mostly as a signal that she's finished.

"Definitely," he smiles. "I could… uh… I could show them to you over lunch, if you wanted?"

Hesitation must immediately reflect on her face because he winces and backpedals.

"Sorry," he says. "That's unprofessional. And really unclear. I'm not asking you to lunch for business purposes. I'm asking because you're… really beautiful and expressive and something about you just makes me want to get to know you better. But I shouldn't have done that because you're working and so I am. I didn't mean to make it weird or make you uncomfortable."

"No," she rushes to reply. Without even thinking about it, she reaches out to touch his arm, but she pulls her hand back almost immediately. "It's not. Weird, I mean. It's not weird. And I'm not uncomfortable. I just…"

She stops, exhales a nervous breath and tries to sort out the right words for her reply.

"Julie, it's fine," he promises her. "You don't owe me any kind of an explanation."

"You're cute," she blurts out. "It's not that I'm not interested, but in the last two months I ended a relationship, quit school and started my career. The timing is just…"

"Maybe next time, then," he tells her kindly. "Can I walk you to your car?"

She does a double-take at that.

"I work here, you know," she smiles in bemusement. "I walk to my car alone all the time."

"I know," he confirms. "But my mom raised me to be a gentleman. And maybe I'd just like to spend a few more minutes in your company."

She lets out a bark of a laugh at that and shakes her head. "How are you even real?"

He doesn't seem to know how to answer her so he just shrugs and gestures for her to lead the way. They walk together toward the outside, sneaking glances at one another in an absurdly obvious manner. It leaves Jules flushed and her head spinning as she questions her own choice.

Does she really want to tell him no? It's just lunch, after all. It's not like he's asking her for any kind of commitment. At worst, she'd get a sneak peek of the photos he'd snapped and some amazing eye candy as she eats lunch. But then, it's not the 'worst' she's worried about is it? No… she's worried about the _best_. Getting her heart involved in anything right now just seems like a terrible plan and she can see that happening so very easily with Jackson.

It hardly seems worth the risk. Not at this point in her life. Maybe a few months down the road or in a year or two, but now…

They walk outside into the bright, crisp sunshine. It's cool, but not cold and Jules takes a deep breath of winter air, letting it fill her lungs.

"Give me one second," Jackson says, touching her shoulder lightly before moving to the side.

Jules looks toward him, surprised and curious, but all of that melts away in an instant because Jackson's headed toward a beautiful yellow lab tied to the bike rack, her tail thumping a mile a minute as he approaches.

"Heya girl," he greets, crouching to untie the dog as she whines and licks his face like she hasn't seen him in ages. "That's a good girl. Ready for lunch and a trip to the park?"

The dog yips happily and buts her head against his hand looking for an ear scratch. He laughs and obliges, using his other hand to toss the water out of a collapsable bowl he'd left for her and tucking it away in his camera bag.

"Yeah, of course you are," he tells the dog, kissing the top of her head.

"Can I pet her?"

Jules hasn't been able to resist a dog in her entire life and that's surely not going to start now.

Jackson looks up at her with surprise. "Sure," he agrees. "Her name's Bokeh."

"Hey Bokeh," Jules says warmly, approaching the dog and letting it sniff her fingers before kneeling down and scratching beneath the lab's chin. She stretched her neck out and thumps her back foot happily at the attention and Jules laughs, grinning widely. "You're a beautiful girl, aren't you? Look at you…"

"You like dogs?" Jackson asks. She looks over to find an awed look on his face that she's not entirely sure how to interpret.

"I love them," she confirms. She's let up on the scratching and Bokeh is clearly not happy about it. The lab noses at her hand a few times as a gentle reminder that there is, in fact, a dog to be pet right in front of her. Clearly that should take precedence over any human conversation. Jules grins and scratches beneath the dog's collar, which she seems most appreciative about.

"Is there anything at all that's unappealing about you?" Jackson asks with an anxious little laugh. "Because if there is, I'm just not seeing it."

She gets a little embarrassed and wrinkles her nose at that.

"See? Even your blush is pretty," he points out, gesturing toward her before letting his hand fall to the side and sitting back on his heels.

"I'm moody," Jules tells him with a raised eyebrow.

"Gives you character," he replies.

"I don't easily share what I'm feeling," she continues.

"Just makes you a mystery worth figuring out," he counters, grinning at her like he's winning this test.

And he might be. She chuckles and bites the tip of her tongue, watching him with renewed interest.

"My family can be… complicated," she notes.

"What family can't?" he laughs. "Besides, I didn't ask your family to lunch… just you."

"Just me…" she echoes, feeling more than a little floored.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Just _you_."

"I'm never 'just me,' Jackson," she tells him seriously. "I'm Julianna Queen. That follows me everywhere."

"Julianna Queen gets her face splashed across gossip blogs," he agrees. "That's not you, though. Not the you I want to know. I'd like to spend time with Julie who dances like she feels every note in her soul and probably never met a dog she didn't want to pet, not Julianna Queen who committed some fashion faux pas by wearing boots to her aunt's charity event."

"You saw that?" Jules laughs, covering her face with one hand. "You _remember_ that?"

"I have a little sister," Jackson tells her. "She's a bit obsessed with all of those socialite gossip blogs."

Jules just watches him for a moment, weighing everything he's said and feeling a sense of rightness slip over her as she slowly reverses her decision.

"Where are you going for lunch?" she asks him, feeling so very vulnerable and open, but strangely not uneasy about that.

"Chester's Pizza," he tells her, looking so hopeful that it further cements her decision.

"I know it," she smiles.

"They allow dogs there if you sit outside," he says. "Bokeh likes their 'pupper plate.'"

"I bet," Jules grins. Buster loves it, too. Dog treats shaped like a miniature pizza have kind of become the calling card of a surprisingly decent pizza joint. "So, I assume Bokeh does okay with other dogs, then?"

"Yeah," he agrees. "Sometimes she annoys them by being too active, but she's friendly."

"Okay," Jules nods, swallowing hard. "Then why don't I… Why don't I run home and grab my dog? We can meet you there."

"Really?" Jackson asks, a slow grin spreading across his face. He's the sort that doesn't hide a single thing he's feeling, she realizes suddenly, and the joy he's expressing is fully contagious.

"Yeah, really," she confirms, biting her thumbnail as she smiles back shyly.

"That sounds great," he tells her, standing and offering her a hand up. She takes it and neither of them let go immediately when she's standing, too. When she does inevitably step back and release his fingers, the warmth of his palm lingers and she finds herself blushing as she tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at her toes.

"Give me half an hour?" she asks.

"You can have as long as you need," he says, looking a bit awed and more than a little smitten.

The laugh she makes is almost embarrassingly like a giggle, but she can't hold it in and she finds herself nodding at him saying "I'll see you in a bit then" before heading toward her car. She can't help glancing back toward him, though. Little bubbles of joy burst in her chest when she finds him standing right where she left him, smiling like he's the happiest guy in the world.

That giddy feeling lasts the whole drive home and as she practically flies up the stairs to her room. If she's going to have lunch with the most appealing guy she's ever met, she's not going to do it with yoga pants tossed over her leotard. Buster stares at her with one ear cocked in interest as she hops around the room trying to change her clothes as quickly as possible and nearly tripping over her pant leg in the process.

He won't judge, though. Dogs never do.

"Wanna go to Chester's, buddy?" she asks her dog as she lets down her hair and runs her fingers through it, remembering how it felt when Jackson had untucked that strand of hair from behind her ear. Questionable timing or not, she wants to feel that again, wants to see him looking at her like he can't believe his luck as he runs his fingers through her hair.

Buster's tail thumps against the wood floor at the mention of lunch and Jules tosses the eager dog a grin before reaching for her makeup case. He _did_ say he'd wait as long as she needed, after all. Still, she doesn't want to take _too_ long. A refresh on her eyeliner and an application of the boldest red lipstick she owns later, she decides she looks pretty good for an impromptu date.

By the time she's put away her makeup, Buster is leaning against her leg, staring up at her with a pleading look. He knows full well that she's just promised to take him somewhere and he's going to hold her to it.

"Yup, we're going," she tells the dog, slipping on a pair of shoes and nodding toward the door. "Go get your leash."

Following that command runs about 50/50 but apparently Buster's feeling obedient today because he trots off and comes back a moment later proudly holding his leash between his teeth.

"Good boy," she tells him, ruffling his fur as she takes the leash and fastens it to his collar. "Let's go for a car ride and meet your new friend, okay?"

The details are lost on the aging German Shepherd obviously, but he catches the words 'car ride' and barks enthusiastically, suddenly seeming puppy-like with his energy level.

Or maybe it's that Jules' excitement is contagious. None of it abates, even as she drives toward the restaurant. That much is certain.

She spots Jackson and Bokeh immediately as she parks the car and it's obvious when he catches sight of her. His whole face lights up. It's enthralling to Jules, seeing someone who expresses what he's thinking and feeling without reservation. That's never been her strength, but she finds herself biting back a smile in response because seeing that level of emotion readily expressed almost feels like permission to show a bit of her own, too. It seems safer, somehow. Protected.

Buster is a little wary of Bokeh at first when Jules and her beloved dog make their way over to join Jackson at the table he'd grabbed, but after a few sniffs at the lab, he apparently deems her acceptable and lies down across Jules' feet.

"He's beautiful," Jackson says, leaning over slightly to get a look at the old German Shepherd.

"Thank you," Jules smiles, looking down at Buster and scratching the top of his head. "Buster's my baby."

"Dogs always are, right?" Jackson returns. "I'll never understand people who treat them like some kind of accessory. They're family."

"Yeah," Jules agrees, leaning forward with her forearms against the table as she angles unthinkingly toward Jackson. "Exactly. Twelve years ago I found this little puppy stuck, trying to get food out of a dumpster and I scooped him up and wrapped him in my coat and gave him half of my sandwich. He looked at me like I was the only one that mattered in the whole world and he licked my face and I knew he was mine. Took a little longer to convince my parents of that, though."

"I bet," Jackson grins. "He's lucky to have you."

"Goes both ways," Jules notes. "I think I needed him at least as much as he needed me."

"That's how the best relationships always are," Jackson tells her. It's thinly veiled and she finds herself raising an eyebrow and running her tongue along her back teeth as she considers him.

She can't decide if this winds up being the best moment for the server to come or the worst, but either way that's what happens. After a quick glance at the menu, Jules goes with her favorite - the hot and spicy. She's always liked her food with a bit of a kick.

"Hot and spicy?" Jackson asks, donning a questioning look.

"That's how I like it," Jules says without thinking. She turns bright pink an instant later when the words register. "Pizza. How I like pizza. _Oh my god_ , I'm so my mother's daughter right now."

Jackson's laughing outright as Jules buries her face in both of her hands, embarrassment sinking in and taking root. "God, I _would_ ruin the most promising first date ever straight off the bat, wouldn't I?" she mutters.

"Hey. Hey, no," Jackson says, scooting his chair closer to her and giving her wrist a gentle tug. She peeks through her fingers instead of moving her hand. "You didn't ruin a thing," he tells her. "I promise."

" _Really_?" she questions in disbelief.

"Julie, I'm just glad to hear you call this a date," Jackson says. She quickly decides he's either the most open person on the planet or the world's best liar, because every inch of his face declares that he means exactly what he's saying. She's struck again by the notion that she can't understand how someone can willingly be that open, that vulnerable, but it draws her in regardless.

"Well… it is a date," she says, finally pulling her hands away from her face. "You don't think I run home and put on lipstick for just anyone, do you?"

"It's a _good_ color on you," he says, watching her lips as he speaks. She's immediately glad she went with the bold red.

She tugs on her lower lip with her teeth before answering and she's gratified to watch as his eyes dilate as they watch her mouth. "I'm glad you like it," she offers up finally.

"I do," he agrees, meeting her eyes. "But I think you'd probably look beautiful no matter what you were wearing."

She chuckles and shakes her head at him. "Now that's not true."

"I don't believe you," he announces, leaning back and shaking his head. "You're going to have to prove it. Maybe dress as horribly as you can next time."

"Are you asking me out on another date already?" she laughs.

"Definitely," he tells her.

"We've barely started this one!" she protests.

"Yeah, but I know it won't be enough," he grins. "I'll restrain myself from asking for a third, though. For now. No promises about in an hour."

She laughs and looks up at the bright blue sky, grinning to herself. It strikes her suddenly that this is _fun_ , that she's enjoying herself. She barely knows Jackson, of course, but so far she's liked everything about him. It's refreshing and she can't stop herself from smiling.

The smiling thing is kind of refreshing, too.

"Okay," she agrees, looking back down at him. "So what are we gonna do on our second date?"

He's surprised, but his gaze feels like a physical touch, like he's caressing the curve of her face, and she finds herself leaning in a little more toward him.

"Not a movie," he tells her.

"No?" she asks.

"No," he confirms. "I want to be able to talk to you and look at you. I can't do that in a dark theater. I have a feeling you're infinitely more interesting than anything that's playing anyhow."

"Whew," she says, blowing some air through her lips. "Nothing like pressure. I'll try my best not to be boring, I guess."

"I don't think you could be boring if you tried, Julie," he replies.

"Well that just goes to show we definitely need a second date because you have yet to see my boring side," she teases. The pizza comes and she takes a bite before grabbing for the red pepper flakes and adding a bit more.

"Not spicy enough?" he asks before taking a bite of his own slice.

"Well…" she grins, already blushing but willing to make fun of herself. "You do know how I like it, so…"

He almost chokes on his pizza when he laughs and shakes his head at her. The server comes back with 'pupper plates' for the dogs and both of them devour their snack with great delight. Jules is quite happy to note that neither one makes a play for the other's food and Buster is looking a little more comfortable with Bokeh's presence.

"Not to be a cliche," Jules says after swallowing another bite. "But, do you come here often?"

"All the time," Jackson confirms. "My office is near here and any time my parents are in town they always want to come here, too. They take their Italian food pretty seriously and my dad says this place fits the bill."

"Family roots?" Jules asks, taking another bite.

"My dad's parents were immigrants," Jackson confirms. "Mom's from Coast City, which is where I grew up, but you'd think she was Italian too from her devotion to making the world's best cioppino."

"And is it?" Jules asks. "The world's best."

"I might not be the most unbiased opinion," Jackson points out. "But it's definitely the best in Coast City."

"My mom can't cook," Jules volunteers. "Thankfully my dad is pretty great at it. And we have several restaurants on speed dial."

"Backups are a good plan," Jackson notes.

"They are," Jules nods, thinking as she takes a couple more bites and polishes off her slice. "I don't really know what to tell you. About myself, I mean," she says. "You mentioned gossip pages and they get a lot wrong, but they also kind of nag my family extensively and they cover us _all_ the time. So… I don't know, some of the small talk stuff seems redundant."

"No way," Jackson announces. "Not at all. Those articles just exist to sell ad space. That's all. I work in advertising... _believe me_ , I am well aware of how these things work. All I know about you is what I've learned today. And that you have interesting footwear at formal events."

Jules chuckles at that and leans her mouth against the back of her knuckles. "Okay," she tells him after a moment.

"Okay," he nods.

"I grew up in Starling," she tells him.

"Really?" he asks, his voice amused and dry. "I had no idea."

"Yup," she confirms. "Spent my whole life in the same house. My mom does something with business."

"Something with business?" he laughs.

"Yeah and my dad works for the government," she adds. "You know… desk job."

"Does he now?" Jackson grins.

"He does," she notes. "And my big brother is a firefighter. My little sister and brother are still in school."

"See? Definitely not the kind of things gossip blogs focus on. Not even a mention of a single fashion designer," Jackson points out.

"Not a one," Jules agrees.

"My dad's a fisherman," Jackson tells her. "My mom's a teacher and my baby sister is still in school. I lived in Coast City until about six months ago when my aunt's advertising firm hired me for web design and photography."

"Did you do the college thing?" she asks curiously.

But she doesn't get an answer right away because she looks down toward Buster to find a surprising sight.

" _Huh_ ," she says, drawing Jackson's attention to their dogs. Bokeh has moved over to Buster and curled up next to him. Buster's resting his head on the yellow lab's shoulder, staring up at Jules with attentive eyes as he lounges.

"Well they sure made friends quickly," Jackson grins in delight.

"Yeah," Jules says, blinking at the dogs. "I've just never seen Buster take to another dog like this… He's always friendly, but he never really likes anyone but me."

"He must like having a bit of canine companionship," Jackson notes before giving a belated reply to her earlier question. "And I have an associate's degree. I've always been interested in photography and I've taken a lot of classes on it over the years, but the web design stuff is new. It was my aunt's suggestion, if I wanted to work for her. And that seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up."

That makes sense to Jules and she finds herself nodding. "It would be. It sounds like your family is close. It must be nice to not be _too_ far from them. Coast City is just a couple of hours."

"Oh yeah," Jackson agrees. "And I have loads of relatives here. My dad moved away from Starling ages ago because his brother got messed up in some stuff and he didn't want any part of it. But most of the family stayed."

"Really?" Jules asks, curiosity creeping into her voice.

"Yeah, my Uncle Nick got mixed up with the Bertinellis. He actually died because of it, right around the time I was born," Jackson confides.

Jules freezes. She tries very, very hard to keep her face impassive.

"The Bertinellis, huh?" she asks lightly.

"Crazy, right?" Jackson asks. "Dad says he was always a little strange. Anyhow, he was the only one in my family to be in ' _the_ family.' Well… him and his wife, anyhow. So, that's the Salvati family skeleton in the closet."

"Nick Salvati was your uncle," Jules states plainly. She's probably not keeping her face nearly as expressionless as she'd like. "He was your dad's brother, so your last name is Salvati."

"I promise the rest of us are completely mob-free," he assures her, raising both eyebrows a little like he's waiting for her to confirm she understands him.

"No, I believe you," she says in a rush. "I do. I just… that's interesting. That's all. Just… interesting."

"...Because?" Jackson asks.

"Because… my father has a long memory," Jules tells him. A look of understanding dawns across Jackson's face.

"You think he won't approve of me because of my last name," he deduces.

In truth, Jules isn't sure. It's been a very long time since the Bertinelli clan has been organized enough to be any kind of a threat to the city and even longer since Nick Salvati was an issue. He's been in the ground more than two decades. But Jules realizes very quickly that she's not willing to risk it.

"I think it doesn't matter," she says slowly. "Because I have no intention of telling him."

Jackson's brow furrows a little at that. "I'll be honest. I'd love to pick you up for our next date, shake your dad's hand and look him in the eye. Maybe that's old fashioned-"

"Maybe?" she laughs.

"Okay, it is," Jackson admits, bashfully shrugging a shoulder. "But it just feels right to me. I don't want him to question that I respect him or you. And I don't want you to question that either."

"And my mom?" Jules questions curiously.

"I'd shake her hand, too," he laughs. "Sorry, I only mentioned your dad because that's who you focused on. But, Julie, if you're not comfortable with that yet… that's okay. I'm not looking to rush things with you."

"Didn't you just bring up a third date and talk about meeting my parents?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Fair enough," he chuckles, reaching down to scratch Bokeh behind the ear. "But that's really just wanting to get to know you better. I'll happily follow your lead, wherever that might take us."

That's fantastically reassuring, really, and Jules is always happy to get her way. So, she gives him a little smile of agreement and says "To the dog park, I think. And a second date next weekend?"

"Sounds perfect," he assures her.

The server comes back with the bill and Jules insists on splitting the check, though Jackson looks a little disappointed by that. She's not surprised. He seems the type who'd like to pay for a date. But she learned the hard way how money can tarnish a relationship and she likes Jackson too much to risk sabotaging things so quickly. She does let him help her out of her chair, though, mostly because it seems to make him happy.

Buster and Bokeh both trot along happily as their people hold hands and glance at each other almost shyly as they head down the block toward the dog park. Buster isn't young these days. His hips aren't great and his vision is suffering a bit, but the moment he realizes where they're headed, he's like a puppy all over again. He whines happily and jumps up on Jules, licking at her cheek before hopping down and straining against his leash toward the park. She laughs and lets him tug them along. It's a joy seeing him with this much excitement.

The minute they're inside the gated park and the dogs are off their leashes, they're both running around like they've been craving this freedom forever. They chase each other and roll in the mud and Bokeh even jumps on Buster, knocking him over. They're happy, both of them thumping their tails as if they're the best of friends who've been longing to see each other for ages.

"They're gonna be a mess to clean up later," Jackson observes. He's gone back to holding Jules' hand after having to let go to release Bokeh's leash. She keeps glancing down at their joined fingers wondering how this happened.

"So what?" Jules shrugs. "It's just dirt and they're having fun now. Sometimes you've gotta live in the moment."

The wind whips up right as she says that, sending her hair flying in the breeze. Jackson reaches up with his free hand to brush it away from her face and she finds herself holding her breath as her eyes flutter up at him. His seemingly ever-present smile is nowhere to be seen. Instead it's been replaced by a longing look that makes her shiver and her heart race.

"Sometimes you do," he agrees.

She knows he's going to kiss her before he does and she rises up on her tiptoes to lessen the distance between them. It's a soft, gentle kiss, the sort of thing you might expect to find in a fairytale. That makes sense, because she feels like she's just now waking up, like the barely-there press of his lips against hers breathes life right into her soul. It leaves her wanting more in a way that no kiss before it ever has and she's rattled to her core.

When they part, it's not by much. He looks shaken and awed in the best way possible, drinking in the sight of her and cupping the side of her face as he searches her eyes. But Jules is more prone to action than words. She curls a hand around the back of his neck and tugs him down, melting into this second kiss with a soft moan and tingling lips.

It's everything she could have wanted from this date, far more than she might've expected when she headed to this morning's photo shoot. And, very suddenly, there's not a doubt in her mind that their second date will be every bit as wonderful as their first.

So will the third and the fourth and the tenth and the twentieth and the last.


	60. December 2045

**December 2045**

"Nana!"

The voice is a complete shriek of delight and the wriggly little girl in Jules' arms is clearly angling to be put down. Her excitement is a tangible thing.

"You make 'hello' sort of pointless, you know that? Let's hope you never need to attempt to be stealthy. It would be an uphill battle," Jules tells her, taking the winter coat and hat off her daughter and putting the sixteen-month-old down.

The little girl's off like a rocket in an instant, her tiny feet thudding against the floor as she bolts for the kitchen where the clatter of dishes and low hum of voices drifts toward the door. Jules just smiles and shakes her head as she shrugs off her own coat and goes to hang their things on a hook near the door.

She hasn't even finished hanging the coats when her mother's head appears in the doorway, leaning down near toddler-eye-level.

"Did I hear my little Sylvia?" she asks with a grin.

In an overwhelming combination of surprise and excitement, Sylvia lets out a startled little squeal of excitement and falls back, landing on her diapered butt as a fit of the giggles overtakes her entirely.

"Nana!" she says triumphantly, reaching for her grandmother. "Up! Up!"

Jules watches as her mother smiles adoringly and scoops up the baby, rubbing noses with her and giving a quiet, "Hello, my sweet girl. Happy Hanukkah."

Sylvia looks happy as a clam, smiling ear-to-ear as she leans into her grandmother and pats her on the cheek approvingly. It's sort of astonishing to Jules that anyone can be as upbeat as her daughter tends to be, but _wow_ is she ever grateful. She's heard horror stories from other parents, tales of kids with colic or babies who throw constant tantrums. Sylvia's not perfect, of course. No one is. But she's about as close as anyone could reasonably expect.

"Sorry we're late," Jules offers up, heading over to her mom and giving her a kiss on the cheek. " _Someone_ hid her shoes in the kitchen cabinets and it took forever to find them."

"No!" Felicity says in an exaggerated voice as Oliver closes in behind her and makes a frankly ridiculous face at his granddaughter before letting her grab hold of his fingers. "My Sylvie would not do that. That's absolutely nonsense."

"Sure she wouldn't," Jules scoffs before looking around. "Where's everyone else?"

"Nate's in the kitchen sneaking jelly donuts," Felicity informs her without looking away from Sylvia.

"It's not sneaking!" Nate protests loudly from somewhere behind her. "They're here for everyone and it's _Hanukkah_ of course I'm eating jelly donuts."

"Mhm," Felicity laughs lightly. "Your Uncle Nate has a bit of a sweet tooth, Sylvie. Must be why he likes you so much, my sweet little girl."

"Un?" Sylvia asks, suddenly looking around before settling on her mother with a question in her eyes. "Un?"

"Not Uncle Will, baby," she tells her daughter. "Uncle _Nate_. Your Uncle Will is out shopping with Papa for Christmas presents that they won't tell me about, which is in no way terrifying."

"Well, if they're going to be late, I hope they weren't expecting any _sufganiyot_. The donuts are going fast," Felicity notes.

"I'm not going to eat them all," Nate scoffs, heading over to the rest of his family and grabbing Sylvia when she reaches for him.

A very bright little girl, she promptly grabs hold of his hand and sticks his thumb in her mouth in search of the remnants of his donut.

"Really?" he asks her, raising an eyebrow at the one-year old. " _Really_ , Sylvia?"

She grins up at him but doesn't let go of his thumb, instead choosing to gnaw on it a bit. She's been teething and it probably feels really good against her gums.

"That's disgusting," Nate informs his niece, but he looks completely nonplussed as he says it. "I don't bite on your fingers, do I?"

"Smart move," Jules notes. "You never know where they've been and it's probably worse when you do."

He blanches a bit at that and Jules grins with a sense of triumph. Making her little brother squeamish is something that's never going to get old.

"Where is everyone else?" Jules wonders aloud.

The house is quieter than she'd expected, but then maybe that has to do with Ellie not being here this year. She and her wife are in National City making a pitch to Catco for sponsoring a big outreach program there. Jules is going to miss her sister and sister-in-law, but she's always found more meaning in Hanukkah than Ellie has. Struggling against impossible odds and coming out the other side of them through faith and the sheer refusal to give up is a notion she feels deep in her soul. And the miracle of light shining through darkness when it seems as though it couldn't possibly thrive has richly layered meaning to her these days.

"Amelia's on a business call in my office and Grandma Donna and Frank are upstairs wrapping presents," her mother says with a wince.

"Mom!" Jules protests. "Come on. Like she isn't going to have everyone go overboard at Christmas, too?"

"Told you she wouldn't be happy about it," Nate interjects.

"I know. I know," her mom admits. "But you know your grandmother and it makes her so happy to spoil Sylvia. It's just a few things."

"Hanukkah isn't about presents, Mom," Jules insists. "It's not about _things_."

"Well, I know that, Julianna," her mom says in exasperation. "But you try telling your grandmother not to buy every sparkly, shiny, toddler-sized thing she sees."

"I will," Jules scoffs. "And for now I'll tell her to hold onto them for Christmas."

"Okay," her mom agrees. "But can I give _one_ little Hanukkah present to Sylvia?"

She's so hopeful it has Jules sighing. "What is it?"

"Well, I don't want her to hear!" Felicity protests, waving toward the baby.

"She's one, Mom," Jules points out. "She's not going to know what we're saying."

"She might," Felicity counters. "Babies understand a lot more than you think. Pretty soon she's going to be stringing together whole sentences and telling terrible knock-knock jokes."

"Ugh, she will," Jules acknowledges, making a pained noise and looking off to the side. "If only because her Uncle Will tells them to her constantly like they're the funniest things in the world."

"Un?" Sylvia asks, looking around again.

"You have _two_ Uncles, you know," Nate tells her. " _Two_. One of them is holding you right now letting you chew his finger. I'm Uncle Nate. Let's work on that. Say _Nate_."

She gives him the most disbelieving look Jules has ever seen and it has her cracking up as Nate sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes in response.

"It's just a _teether_ ," Felicity says practically mouthing the last word instead of saying it. "The type you put frozen fruit in so they can gnaw on it safely. That's all."

"Oh," Jules says, looking a little surprised. "Well that's actually completely appropriate, so okay."

"I will go tell my mother to hold off on the princess tricycle, though," she adds.

"Wow," Jules pronounces loudly. "Just… _wow_."

"Don't worry about it," Felicity says, brushing it off. "I'll go talk to her. You relax, sit down, grab a bite to eat."

"I made latkes," her dad volunteers.

And, well… if she has a weak spot for Hanukkah food, it's definitely her dad's latkes. In spite of the fact that he's not Jewish, he's done a fine job of nailing the recipe over the years and her mouth actually starts watering at the idea of delicious, crisp, fried potato.

"You wanna try latkes, baby girl?" Jules asks her daughter, taking her back from Nate. "You can have a little bite with some applesauce."

While Sylvia has no idea what a latke is yet, she _does_ recognise the word 'applesauce' and starts bouncing and clapping her hands excitedly at the idea.

"Come on, you. Let's put some yummy food in our bellies," Jules decides, heading into the kitchen.

"You okay?" her father asks and Jules turns slightly to find her dad watching her mom, who seems to be steeling herself for battle.

"Yup," she nods firmly. "Just preparing myself to inform my mother she has to hang on to those gifts for a bit. It'll be fine. I am fifty-six years old. I can tell my mother no. I am an adult capable of adulting."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Oliver asks.

"Yes. Yes, please. Would you?" Felicity asks with a sigh of relief, staring up at her husband with pleading eyes.

"Come on," he says, taking her hand with a bemused look as he tugs her toward the stairs.

They disappear with quiet footfalls, leaving Jules, Nate and Sylvia behind in the kitchen with a whole lot of really delicious looking food that there will be a lot less of by the time they get back downstairs. Honestly, you snooze you lose. They should've figured that out years ago. Amelia, on her work call in the office, hasn't learned that yet. But she will really soon if she wants any jelly donuts.

"Your Nana is silly," Jules tells Sylvia. "Very, very silly Nana. Let's put food in that tummy of yours, shall we?"

"She want the applesauce with the cinnamon or without?" Nate asks, wandering over toward the fridge.

"Without," Jules says, looking over her shoulder as she grabs the booster seat they use as a high chair and straps Sylvia down securely. "Thanks, Nate."

"Of course," he says agreeably, grabbing a couple of plates and some silverware. Because he's Nate and very detail oriented, one of those plates is plastic and so is a spoon.

To her surprise, he turns around the chair next to Sylvia and straddles it, joining them at the small kitchen table. He winks at his niece and unscrews the cap to the applesauce, pouring a little on a plate. Sylvia's whole face lights up as she looks to the plate and then back up to Nate.

"Uncle _Nate_ ," he says, pointing at himself with the spoon before giving it to her. "Your other uncle. Uncle _Nate_."

But Sylvia doesn't even attempt words because now there is applesauce and - hey - forget the spoon, she's just going to faceplant right into it because obviously that's the right way to go about eating mushy foods. Or any foods.

"Well that's going to be fun," Jules observes, nodding at her daughter as she grabs a few still-warm latkes from the platter her father had put on the table and serves them to herself and her brother.

"She'll enjoy a bath almost as much as she enjoys the applesauce," Nate shrugs, spooning some sour cream atop his latke and happily taking a bite.

Her brother's words make Jules do a double-take. Nate is fastidious to his core, has always been a bit of a neat freak. That Thanksgiving where the turkey giblet had fallen on his foot and he'd nearly thrown up comes to mind and Jules finds herself smiling at the thought. That had been a hell of a day, her and Nate and Ellie working together and somehow achieving what seemed impossible.

But then, she's found over time that they can do almost anything when they support each other. And she's so very lucky to have had her baby brother these past few years. She could've never known, all those years ago when they stood out back with a hose and an enormous turkey, how vital Nate would be to her life. But he is and she's intensely grateful for him.

"Yeah. She will," Jules agrees, grabbing the sour cream for herself. "And she can practice saying _Uncle Nate_ while she's playing with bubbles."

"Un?" Sylvia asks, looking up - lord she's a mess - and looking around the room.

"Uncle _Nate_ ," Jules tells her, pointing at her little brother with the spoon in her hand. "Nate. This Nate. This uncle. My little brother. Understand? Uncle Nate."

Sylvia looks between her mother and uncle as though she doesn't quite believe either one of them and then she picks up her plate and licks it. An enormous glob of applesauce slides right down it and onto her lap. She doesn't seem bothered in the least.

"Okay, well… maybe we need to focus on table manners more," Jules winces.

"She's one," Nate protests. "Let her be one. She's happy and it'll clean up easily enough."

He offers Sylvia a forkful of his latke, which she eyes suspiciously before grabbing it between her fingers and crunching it in her little fist. She considers it for a long moment before shoving it in her mouth. It takes a long moment of consideration before she apparently decides she likes it, reaching out with greasy fingers to grab Nate's sleeve and pull his arm back for more.

The grease will stain, of course, but Nate just grins at the little girl and offers her another bite before stroking her hair away from her face.

He doesn't even try to wipe off the greasy remnants of her snack from his shirt.

"Who are you and what have you done to my brother?" Jules asks, quirking her head to the side.

"Very funny," he counters with a mildly disgruntled look.

In truth, he's surprised her with Sylvia. He's more patient than she'd have given him credit for and his lifelong fastidiousness doesn't seem to extend to her. For someone who she's often thought of as far too rigid, she's been intrigued to find Nate loosens up considerably with her daughter. But on the flipside, he's also very clear about setting boundaries with the little girl, something that Jules is reminded of thoroughly when her daughter reaches for Nate's glasses.

"Sylvia, that's no," he tells her lowering his face to her level and looking her squarely in the eyes as he pries her fingers from his frames. He's very serious with her, but patient and gentle. "Glasses are not a toy. This rattle is a toy. It's a better choice, okay? You can play with this. Good girl."

There's no question in her mind that Sylvia would prefer to gnaw on his glasses over the rattle, but she settles for it anyhow, smacking it against the table noisily as she eyes her uncle as if she's trying to figure him out.

Jules knows the feeling.

"So, how's school going, Bug?" she asks, leaning back a little in her chair as she watches him.

He gives her a disbelieving look at the nickname but doesn't openly object to it. That's probably smart. It would only encourage her.

"Fine," he replies. "Busy. I'll be glad to be done."

"I bet," Jules agrees. She'd barely made it through a year and a half of college. She can't imagine sitting in classes for all the years required to get an MBA. "You've got one more term left, right?"

"Yeah," Nate agrees.

"You got a job already lined up at QI yet?" Jules asks curiously.

"I do, but let's not talk about work stuff tonight," Nate suggests.

" _What_?" Jules asks, pulling a face and watching him like she must have heard him wrong. "Seriously?"

"I haven't had much time with you guys lately," Nate points out. "And Sylvie's getting big so quickly. I just want to spend the holiday with you guys and forget about work and school and all that for a bit. Everything's fine with all of that. I just…"

He pauses and rethinks his words as he strokes Sylvia's hair. She's got the plastic plate in her mouth, chewing on the edge of it, but she grins up at him with those great big eyes of hers and Nate can't help smiling back.

"Anybody calls me Uncle Nate and she looks around for Will," Nate points out. "I know she likes me, but I don't want to be just her second uncle, you know? She's more important to me than that."

A wash of affection swells in Jules' heart as she watches her baby brother and her daughter side-by-side. In their childhoods, she and Nate had not been all that close. He's much younger than her, after all. But recent years have changed their relationship for the better and she finds these days that she wishes they had more time together. And she definitely wants more time spent between Nate and Sylvia.

"Don't take it too hard, Bug," she tells him. "Yesterday she pointed at the mailman and called him 'Un.' I'm pretty sure she just thinks any adult man without glasses and with scruffy facial hair other than her father is the same person named Un."

He laughs and shakes his head at that, traces of worry slipping right off his face at her words.

"Give her time, Nate," Jules counsels. "Like you said, she's one. She'll know who you are and she'll know you're there for her, just like you're always there for me."

The little dork actually blushes at that. Suddenly he's a bashful eight-year-old masquerading as a twenty-three-year-old right before her eyes. He's that little kid she grew up down the hall from, but barely noticed half the time. She notices him now, though.

"You are, Nate," she points out. "You're always there for me. Without you I would've-"

"We don't have to talk about that again," he says with an uncomfortable little laugh. "You're my sister, Jules. You'd have done the same thing for me."

"Yeah," she agrees. "I would've. But you _did_ and that matters. I guess I just… Hanukkah always has me thinking about what I'm grateful for and how amazing it is the way things turned out. So, if you'd just shut up and let me say thank you and promise you that Sylvia is gonna grow up knowing who her Uncle Nate is, that'd be great."

Nate laughs and shakes his head, looking off to the side. "Only you could tell me to shut up and say thank you in the same sentence."

"It's a talent," Jules informs him.

Clearly feeling a bit left out of the conversation, Sylvia lets out a loud, indistinct protest, clattering her plate to the table for emphasis.

"Really?" Jules asks the baby emphatically.

"Ah ma ma ma ma _ma_ ," Sylvia announces like she's making some very compelling statement as she holds up a bit of latke in her fist.

"Yes, I am," Jules replies. "I'm mama. Did you need something?"

She blows a raspberry in reply, which is equal parts funny and disgusting because she sprays bits of applesauce everywhere.

"A bath," Jules announces. "That's what you need."

"No!" Sylvia declares loudly.

"Oh yes," Jules laughs. "Most definitely a bath. But we should probably wait until you're done eating because it's pointless before that."

Nate nods and grabs a nearby dishtowel, using it to wipe off Sylvia's face and the front part of her applesauce-covered dress.

"Papa?" Sylvia asks, looking from her mother to her uncle.

"Your papa will be here in a bit," Jules promises the little girl who looks quite distraught about the idea. "He's out with Uncle Will, but they're both coming to celebrate Hanukkah with us."

"Papa!" Sylvia says again, a bit more instantly, wrenching her hand away from Nate as he tries to clean off her fingers.

"Be good, Sylvie," Jules scolds lightly. "Let Uncle Nate clean you up."

"Papa," Sylvia says again, holding out her fist.

It's then that it dawns on Jules what her little girl is really saying. She sits there stunned for a moment, watching her daughter. It's only when Nate makes a move to clean her hands off again that Jules finds her voice.

"Hang on," she says to Nate as Sylvia starts to whine and pull her hand away again. "Sylvia are you trying to give that to Papa? Are you sharing?"

"Papa!" she says again, holding up the little bite of slobber-drenched latke in her fingers.

"Oh honey," Jules sighs, rising from her chair to pick up her daughter. "You are just the sweetest little girl ever, did you know that? We'll save it for Papa, okay? Nate, hand me her plate, would you?"

Wordlessly, Nate hands her the plastic plate and Jules holds it out for Sylvia.

"Put it on the plate for Papa, Sylvia," Jules instructs. "Put it here."

Sylvia looks a little suspicious of this, but follows the directions anyhow, wiping her fingers on the plate before looking to her mother.

"For Papa," Jules says, nodding toward the plate and setting it on the counter.

She gets an applesauce-covered kiss and a happy cuddle from her little girl as Sylvia realizes not only has she been understood, but she's also getting what she wants.

"You're a good girl, Sylvie," Jules assures her, rubbing her back. "Very thoughtful. I'm sure Papa will appreciate it. He loves grandpa's latkes."

It's true. He does. But what he'll _really_ love is that his little girl thought of him, that she wanted to share her newly discovered treat with him. Jules often finds herself astonished at the bond her husband and daughter have with each other. It seems like they were meant for each other and despite her previous reservations about having children, she finds she can't imagine her family without her daughter now. Sylvia's so thoroughly interwoven herself into all of their lives, but especially her father's.

"Hey. I thought I heard you guys come in."

Jules looks over to the doorway to find Amelia standing there with her phone in hand.

"Will just called," she continues, before pocketing her phone and waving her fingers at Sylvia. "He said they're just making one more stop and then they'll be on their way. He's gonna call you about something, though. He wouldn't say what."

Amelia is close enough that Sylvia can reach for her - something that clearly delights the other woman - and Jules hands her over. Amelia's whole face lights up as she hugs the baby, heedless of the remnants of applesauce.

"Hi!" Amelia greets Sylvia. "It's so good to see you, sweetheart. Happy Hanukkah."

Instinct has her rocking the little girl gently as she beams down at her. Jules has to think the only people she's ever met who like babies more than Amelia are her Grandma Donna, her own husband and Will. Her older brother has wanted a family of his own for years and now that he and Amelia are engaged, Jules has to think it won't be terribly long before Sylvia's got a cousin or two to play with.

Hell, with the timetable they've set on their wedding, maybe Amelia's _already_ pregnant. Jules wouldn't be surprised.

That'd be nice, she thinks. They've started hanging out together frequently in recent months. It'll be good for Sylvia to have other kids around and there's no way she'll be getting siblings, so cousins sound ideal to Jules.

"This your first one?" Nate asks. Jules is so lost in her own mind that her head whips around to look at her brother. He's clearly confused by her reaction. "Hanukkah…" he clarifies.

Oh… _oh_ … right.

"Yes," Amelia confirms as Jules looks back at her. She seems a little uneasy all of a sudden, holding Sylvia a little closer. "I hope it's okay that I'm here. Will said it would be okay, but I wasn't sure."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Jules asks, looking at her as though she's crazy.

"I'm not Jewish," Amelia points out.

"Neither's Will," Jules replies. "Neither is my dad or my husband."

"Well, sure," Amelia acknowledges. "But they're family."

Jules can't help cracking up at that and shaking her head at the other woman. How is it that she hasn't gotten this yet?

"Amelia," she says, "so are you."

Jules watches as her brother's fiance's face goes from stunned to incredibly pleased in no time flat. Everything happened so quickly with her and Will once they finally got on the same page. Sometimes it seems like she's forgotten that her relationship with everyone else in the family has shifted, too.

"You're marrying my brother in four months," Jules reminds her. "We're been referring to you as Aunt Amelia to Sylvie since before you guys were even engaged. From the moment we found out that Will was dating you, I don't think a single one of us doubted you'd be family the second he thought you'd say yes."

"It's true," Nate pipes up. He's got _another_ latke on his plate and Jules stops to wonder how the hell he puts so much food away. It's not like he's on the vigilante exercise routine, but somehow Nate is all lean muscle anyhow. "We placed bets on how long it would take him to propose."

"Wait... _really_?" Amelia asks, eyes darting between the siblings.

"Mom won a lot," Nate admits.

"If Will had just held out a little longer, you'd have been getting a really fantastic wedding gift from me," Jules adds before pausing to consider her words and rolling her eyes at herself. "Alright, you're still getting a fantastic wedding gift from me, but _still_."

"You picked Christmas," Nate reminds her.

"Yeah, I thought he'd be that cheesy guy who hung a ring on the tree," Jules agrees. "I was off by a few months, but you said a _year_. A year! In no world was Will going to wait a year to propose."

"It seemed logical at the time," Nate replies defensively.

"Exactly," Jules points out because _duh_ Nate isn't getting this at all. "It's logical, not emotional. You were thinking like you, not like Will."

"Everyone else's guesses just seemed so fast," Nate says, before paling and looking at Amelia apologetically. "I'm not saying that's wrong. I didn't mean it like that. I'm really happy you and Will are getting married."

"Don't worry about it," Amelia tells him. "I know what you mean. But Nate… I'm pretty sure you're the only person on the planet who would say Will and I are moving _fast_. We didn't just meet. After so many years apart with so many stupid mistakes, most of them mine, neither one of us wanted to waste more time. I'd marry him today if he asked me to."

"Probably don't tell him that or your mom is gonna be super pissed she misses the wedding," Jules advises, pulling her ringing phone from her pocket and looking down to check the number. "Well… speak of the devil."

The fact that it's a call instead of a text makes Jules suspicious. Who the hell calls when they don't have to? No one. And definitely not her older brother.

"What did you do?" she asks as a greeting, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello to you too," Will replies. "What makes you think I did anything?"

"Call it intuition," she says.

"Maybe I'm just calling to say Happy Hanukkah," he retorts. "Maybe I've spent my morning shopping for your Christmas present and it's really great and you should be nicer to me."

"Fine," she relents, walking into the living room as footsteps echo down the stairs. Grandma Donna's voice drifts down and as much as Jules is looking forward to seeing her, she knows the pitch of a joyful shriek she'll make once she sets eyes on Sylvia. She needs her hearing. "Hi, Will. How's it going?"

"Great!" he replies crisply. "Also, I did something and I wanna make sure you're not going to be pissed."

"Well that's more like it," Jules counters, plugging her other ear as her grandmother steps foot in the kitchen and starts to make a fuss over Sylvia. "I love when conversations start like this, Will."

"I live to entertain you, Jules," Will sighs.

"What did you do and does it involve my husband?" Jules demands. "Do you need bail money? Tickets to a country that doesn't extradite? What?"

"Nothing like that," Will scoffs. "And his hands are clean. This is all me. And completely legal."

"William, just tell me what you did," Jules insists.

"It's Christmas related," he confesses. "Since we're all at the brownstone today, I wanted to do something for Sylvia this afternoon, but it's Hanukkah so I wanted to make sure you didn't object to the timing."

"We're doing Christmas presents on Christmas," Jules reminds him, glancing Sylvia's direction. Her grandmother is putting a tiara on Sylvia. Of course she is. "Sylvia gets spoiled enough with gifts. She doesn't need them piled on on Hanukkah, too."

"This isn't a gift," Will protests. "I know you'll be totally fine with it. I just didn't want to hijack your holiday."

"...What are you doing, exactly?" she asks suspiciously.

"I don't want to tell you," Will whines. God, for a man in his late thirties, he sounds twelve all over again. "I really wanna see your face when you find out. Please? Just trust me on this. Sylvia will love it and it's not a gift. It's just a little Christmas spirit overlapping with Hanukkah, if that's okay."

"We've got four hours 'til sundown, Will," Jules points out. "Unless you're interrupting the menorah lighting or something, I'll defer to my husband's judgement on this one. If he thinks it's fine, then go for it."

" _Yes_!" Will cheers. There's a bit of a clatter as he drops his phone and Jules laughs as his voice comes back a moment later. "We'll be there in five minutes. Thank you, Jules! You won't regret this. Have someone grab a camera, okay? Video tape Sylvie when we walk in."

"...What did you _do_?" she asks, her voice rife with suspicion.

"You'll see soon!" Will promises. "Get ready."

The line goes dead and Jules finds herself wondering what in the world she's meant to get ready _for_. But one thing is for certain, if she's meant to take pictures of Sylvia, she probably should at least put her in something clean.

Grabbing her diaper bag, she heads back to the kitchen to reclaim her little girl away from her parents and grandmother.

"Oh if you aren't just the most beautiful princess I ever saw! Look at you," Donna's exclaiming as she adjusts the tiara atop Sylvia's head. The little girl reaches out for her great-grandmother's necklace to examine it as she grins. Sylvia's incredibly gentle for a one-year-old, but she's also fascinated by shiny things and jewelry in particular.

"Hey Grandma," Jules says, leaning over and kissing her grandmother's cheek. "I need to take that princess for a moment to change her ballgown, if you don't mind."

"Ballgown?" her grandmother asks, looking utterly delighted.

"Sorry, was just going along with the metaphor a bit," Jules winces balancing Sylvia on her hip as she tugs a fresh dress out of her bag. "But it is a pretty little party dress. Will's up to something and he said we need to be ready to take pictures."

"Oh, pictures are a great idea," her mom chimes in.

She's automatically moved to help Jules change Sylvia. They make quick work of her applesauce-covered dress and Felicity takes a damp rag to wipe her a little cleaner before Jules slips a glittery blue dress over her head.

Sylvia is delighted, touching the fabric and moving it to make the sparkles catch the light and squealing in joy at the sight of it.

There are times she is very much her great-grandmother's descendant.

"I wanted to get a picture of the four of us," Felicity smiles, fixing the tiara on Sylvia's head. "Four generations of Smoak women together for the holidays."

"Oh! I love that," Donna proclaims, clapping her hands together in delight. "Oliver, would you be a doll and take the shot?"

"Not me?" her longtime companion Frank asks. "I do believe I'm insulted, Donna. I've been slighted."

"Honey your eyesight isn't exactly in its prime, in case you hadn't noticed," she replies.

"Nonsense," he scoffs before winking at her. "I still know a good thing when I see one."

"Oh… _you_ ," she giggles, flushing with delight.

On one hand, this seems a little gross to Jules on account of it's her _grandmother_ and she's… well, she's old. But on the other it's also kind of refreshing to see. Her own relationship isn't much like her grandmother and pseudo-grandfather's, but it's every bit as committed and loving. And seeing that alive and well in a couple in their eighties is bolstering somehow, reminds Jules of how very lucky she is to have taken a risk on her heart all those years ago.

"I'll be happy to take a picture," her father says, grabbing the high-end camera he'd bought the moment he found out he was going to be a grandfather off the top of the fridge.

"Living room sofa?" her mom suggests. "With the menorah on the table?"

"Perfect," Donna announces, tickling Sylvia and wrinkling her own nose up in delight before heading over to the sofa.

Everyone else follows suit and soon enough the four Smoak woman find themselves seated together while Oliver stands across from them with the camera. Sylvia, however, absolutely will not pay attention to her grandfather. No, not when her great-grandmother is right next to her with sparkly, shiny jewelry for her to touch and stare at.

"Hang on," Jules says after her father makes a few failed attempts to get Sylvia's attention.

She passes Sylvia to her mother, gets up, and gently takes the tiara from her daughter before crossing over to her dad and placing it atop his head.

" _Really_?" he asks, giving her an incredulous look.

"Fit for a Queen," she grins, heading back to the Smoak women and taking a seat next to her mom.

As ridiculous as it is - and it _is_ … she spies Nate off to the side, sneaking a few shots of their dad in the tiara - it also works. Sylvia grins delightedly at the sight of the crown atop her grandfather's head and stares right at it. He snaps a few shots, all of which will prove to turn out fantastic, before heading over to scoop up Sylvia and deposit her tiara back on her head.

"Much better look on you, Little One," he informs her, dragging a fingertip down the bridge of her nose and tapping the tip of it before offering his mother-in-law a hand up off the sofa. Sylvia grins happily and rests her head against her grandfather's chest, staring up at him with adoring eyes.

Nate takes a shot of that too and even though it's just on his cell phone and not the best quality, it'll prove to be one of Jules' favorites. There's so much love and affection in that moment, such open joy and so much personality. She can look at that shot and see the little girl and young woman her daughter will turn into, the dreamer, the soft-hearted child, and beautiful little cuddle-bug.

But the moment itself barely lasts a few seconds, because quite suddenly there's a ruckus at the door.

" _Ho ho ho_!"

Realization dawns on Jules and she groans aloud.

"He didn't," Amelia protests.

"Oh, I think we both know he did," Jules replies, giving her soon-to-be sister-in-law a weighty look. She winces and bites her lip before turning to the door.

It slams open a moment later and - sure enough - there's Will… dressed as Santa Claus.

Jules wants to say something, but she's not sure she has the words. She just kind of stares at her big brother, at the fake beard and the stuffed red velvet suit and the black buckled boots. He went all out and right behind him is her husband giving her an apologetic shrug.

"Look who I found, Sylvie," he says, pointing at Will. "It's Santa. He came so you could tell him what you want for Christmas this year, cause you've been such a good girl."

Sylvia's eyes go wide and her mouth forms a soft little O shape as she looks between her father and 'Santa.' Nate's in the background recording the moment, but everyone else is waiting to see what the little girl will do.

"Un!" she exclaims delightedly after a second, reaching for Will.

"Er…. I'm Santa. Santa Claus. From the North Pole. With the reindeer and the elves," he laughs, stepping closer to her.

"Un. _Un_ ," she insists, immediately grabbing a fistful of the fake beard and tugging sharply the moment he's near enough for her to reach.

She grins in triumph when he actually comes off, even as Will gives a yelp of pain at the glue pulling at his scruff beneath. But Sylvia's joy at seeing him easily overwhelms the momentary shock of pain he must feel because she's climbing into his arms and hugging him tightly. You'd think she hadn't seen him in weeks instead of just three days before.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asks her as she tugs off his hat and pats his cheek.

"She'd know you anywhere, Will," Jules tells him. Her husband closes in at her side and wraps an arm around her, kissing her temple softly and murmuring hello. She leans into him and gives him a lazy smile. "Hey, you."

Momentarily, it feels as though they're in their own little world. It often does when they're together, like the connection between them drowns out everything else. It makes her heart sing and her skin tingle with anticipation.

"So… you went shopping for me…" she ventures, turning and draping her arms around him to scritch her fingernails against the hair at the nape of his neck. It's his achilles heel - always has been - and he gives a pained noise and a warning glance before replying.

"Not telling you a thing," he insists.

"I'll get it out of you… one way or another," she counters, biting her lip and giving a little shrug.

His eyes flash with something intense and she shudders a little in delight and grins at him, filled with suggestiveness and the promise of _later_. Thankfully, it's all said lowly enough that no one else seems to notice.

"I cannot believe you rented a Santa suit," Amelia says nearby, shaking her head at Will.

"Who says I rented it?" he laughs.

"You _bought_ a Santa suit?" she asks, blinking at him in surprise. "Will…"

"I wanted to make her smile," he defends, bouncing Sylvia up and down. She giggles uncontrollably at the motion, apparently finding it the funniest thing that's happened in ages.

"All you had to do for that was show up," Amelia points out, resting her hand on her fiance's arm and eyeing him with blatant affection.

He leans over to kiss her, but she pulls back laughing and tugs the dangling beard off completely before allowing it.

"Sorry, I can't kiss Santa," she protests, shaking her head.

"Could if you were Mrs. Claus," he points out with a raised eyebrow. "They had some fantastic Mrs. Claus costumes at the store, too."

She cringes hard at that. "Honey…"

"Or an elf?" he suggests.

"We'll… talk about it later," she says, apparently suddenly quite aware that they're surrounded by his entire family and turning about four shades pinker.

"Oh, we definitely will," Will nods.

Any awkwardness of the moment is broken quickly, though. Sylvia decides she's had her fill of her uncle and suddenly demands her papa, who is more than happy to hold his little girl for a while. Ellie calls to Skype with the family from National City and wish everyone a Happy Hanukkah. Oliver, Nate and Will - who changes back into normal clothes - all wind up back in the kitchen shortly after that. The three Queen men cook together while Donna, Frank, and Felicity busy themselves with picking out which wine to open.

Amelia, however, seems a little uncertain of how she fits into all of this. She barely knows Donna or Frank and seems hesitant to jump into the wine selection. And the Queen boys are already a well-oiled cooking team.

"Sit with us," Jules instructs, nodding toward the sofa as she takes the baby from her husband and settles onto the floor in front of the coffee table. Looking up at her husband she adds "Would you grab a bowl of berries please?"

He nods and heads off to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a large bowl of fruit. She thanks him as he sits next to her.

"Take some," Jules tells Amelia as she takes a handful of berries for herself and another for Sylvia.

"Oh, thank you, but I'm not hungry," Amelia demures.

"They're not for eating," Jules tells her. "They're for playing dreidel. I thought we'd teach Sylvia. Might as well teach you at the same time."

A soft look of understanding falls over Amelia's face. This isn't just teaching her a Hanukkah game and it's not just playing for fruit. It's including her, teaching her their traditions and taking her into the fold of their family.

Once upon a time, Jules would've been the last person to initiate this. She had not had much confidence in Amelia at the start, had been certain that she'd flake out or Will would find that reality couldn't live up to his dreams. There's no other time in her life where Jules has been happier to be proven wrong.

"I'd love to," Amelia replies with appropriate gravity as she reaches for the bowl of berries.

"We should all start with the same amount," Jules tells her. "Sylvia and I each have fifteen. Are you playing, love?" she asks, looking to her husband.

"I'll be on Sylvie's team," he replies, winking at his daughter. She grins and pops a berry in her mouth.

"And this is why we're using berries," Jules says, shaking her head at her daughter as she reaches beneath the coffee table for a small box with a dreidel in it. It's the same one she played with as a child. "Better fruit in your mouth than pennies or nuts. I've gotta tell you, though, you're setting yourself up to lose this game, kiddo."

Sylvia obviously neither understands nor cares. She munches on.

That changes when they get to the dreidel spinning in front of her, though. She stops and stares, completely transfixed by the top, eyes going with wide awe and moving to reach for it.

"No, no, sweetie," Jules tells her, grabbing her wrist and kissing her fingertips. "You have to see where it lands. You'll get your turn, okay?"

She's little, though, and the toy is attractive. It takes her father putting a blueberry in her fingers to momentarily distract her from the spinning top.

"I have no idea what that means," Amelia confesses when the dreidel stops.

"I didn't expect you would," Jules laughs, picking up the top and pointing to the Hebrew letter etched into the side. "We're just spinning to see who goes first. I spun _hey_ , which is pretty good. You want this one, which is _gimel_ , to beat me."

She nods and takes the dreidel, looking very serious about it and giving the top a spin. She does not, as it turns out, spin _gimel_. Neither does Sylvia by proxy of her father and Jules winds up going first.

It takes a few rounds before Amelia settles in, but before long she starts to look at ease and they find themselves engrossed in the game and Sylvia's reaction to it. They clap for her every time she attempts a spin. She doesn't even come close to achieving it, but that's okay. She's little and she's having fun anyhow. And if she eats half the berries out of the pot in the middle, no one minds in the least.

Even if she does spoil her dinner a bit.

It's a little strange without Ellie there, but there are still ten people at the table when they sit down to dinner and it's a holiday filled with stories and laughter even in her absence. Will seems like he can't stop touching Amelia. Her shoulder, her hand, her thigh. She absolutely lights up at all of it and reaches right back, resting her hand on his leg and leaning toward him, smiling from her eyes. Grandma Donna tells stories of her mom's Hanukkah celebrations as a child and the time she accidentally set a curtain on fire with the _shamash_. And Jules' husband scoots his chair close enough to her that he can rest his hand against her back, leaving her feeling warm and relaxed and encompassed by affection.

About halfway through dinner, Sylvia gets fussy and has to go down for a nap. Nate volunteers to take her up to the old crib that had once belonged to Jules herself. It takes a while for her to calm down enough to sleep, but Nate's patient and soon enough he's back with a baby monitor in hand. Thankfully, she wakes not long before sundown and gets to be there as they light the menorah and say their prayers over the candles.

None of it means anything to her yet, of course. She's too little for that, but she watches everything with curious, bright eyes. And she does seem to love the songs, attempting to babble along with her mother and grandmother, her uncle and great-grandmother.

All-in-all, it's a relaxing day spent with family. Stories and wine and laughter flow steadily and Jules is surrounded by nearly all of the people she loves the most in this world. There are many holidays before this and many more that will follow, but this one will always stand out.


End file.
